


Neh diis lus'a, lus diis'a

by villainsmatter



Series: The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb [1]
Category: The Nevernight Chronicles - Jay Kristoff
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Friends to Lovers to Enemies, Probably more characters will appear but not sure when, Spoilers, darkdawn, especially for darkdawn, godsgrave, i guess, look at me, nevernight, writing another villain's origin story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-01-03 15:47:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21181964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/villainsmatter/pseuds/villainsmatter
Summary: Because every monster was once a child. And every story, no matter its conclusion, deserves to be told.





	1. Prologue

_Welcome back, gentlefriends. _

_I can imagine your surprise, reading these lines: didn’t Mia’s tale come to an end? Wasn’t the tithe repaid? The balance restored? _

_Yes. _

_And no. _

_The ones who’ll flip through these pages will be for sure expecting a sequel. They’ll want to know what happened to Jonnen, to Marielle, to Mercurio, how the Republic got itself back on its feet, as trembling and unsteady as a child learning how to walk, after the events of truedark. _

_But, as much as I hate to disappoint you, gentlefriends, and as much as I hope that someone more worthy than me will one day indulge your cravings, this isn’t the story that waits for you, here. _

_If you want to follow her in this journey, your narrator will tell you about the Before. _

_Before Aa the Everseeing lost two of his three eyes. _

_Before the Republic fell by the hands of the Kingmaker. _

_Before the aforementioned Kingmaker was even born, in fact. _

_Because every monster was once a child. And every story, no matter its conclusion, deserves to be told. _

_Don’t look for breathtaking battles, or heart-pounding adventures. _

_You won’t find anything of the sort. _

_But if it’s the blood that you want, your wish will be satisfied. _

_Stabs in the back, you know, bleed in the same way as the others. _

_And the blade of politics, in the hands of some, is as sharp as the ones made of gravebone. _

_You’ve probably already guessed the protagonist of our tale, and if that’s the case this will seem trivial, but I still feel compelled to warn you: _

_If you love happy endings, gentlefriends, you've come to the wrong place._

Original version:[here](https://villainsmatter.tumblr.com/post/188602236792/im-posting-the-first-chapter-of-my-nevernight)

My Tumblr page:[here](https://villainsmatter.tumblr.com)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! I don't know if anyone will ever read this, since the fandom is not big and no one cares about my favorite characters, but if you've read the prologue I just wanted to say: thank you for your time. I have a lot of headcanons about Scaeva and Alinne (especially about Scaeva) and the lack of content for them inspired me to start writing this. I hope you enjoyed and I really want to know what do you think: I also need people to talk to me about Darkdawn because UGH my heart so, if you want to chat, my Tumblr username is villainsmatter.  
See you soon, I hope!  
Ps: my first language is Italian and I'm actually writing it in Italian and then translating it into English. If you want to read the original version, I'll post it on my Tumblr page.


	2. Decipit frons prima multos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo here we are: the plan would be to write the thing in three parts (a bit like Nevernight, Godsgrave and Darkdawn) the first of which takes place when Scaeva is still a child. I already warn you that this will be lighter than the other two (mainly because our protagonist is... not a bastard), but don't worry: there will be blood. Like I did before, I'm leaving the link to the Italian version at the end of the chapter (I like it slightly more than the English version). Enjoy!

**T**he ship was gliding smoothly over the Sea of Swords, the still water and the radiancy of two eyes of the Everseeing, Saan the Seer and Saai the Knower, symbolizing Aa and Trelene’s benevolence over the people they protected. Everywhere, over and below the deck, sailors and simple passengers walked around, some striking a sail, some checking shrouds and ropes, some simply admiring the coastline moving away and the place called Crow’s nest, property of the _Familia_ Corvere, becoming nothing more than a dark dot on the line of the horizon. A gentle breeze was blowing, disheveling the _dominae_’s hair and making the men’s cape flutter slightly, not strong enough to be annoying, but still able to freshen the faces flushed by the suns. 

A couple of turns and they would reach the port of Elai, in Liisian territory.

It was a splendid day.

An individual, out of all of them, however, would have disagreed with this last statement.

Laying on a bed that seemed everything but comfortable, the portholes closed to keep as much light as possible outside the cabin and with the eyelids shut tight in an attempt to tame the tremendous seasickness that assaulted him every time he set foot on a boat, the twelve-years-old boy that one day the Itreyan Republic would with loud cheers call _Senatum Populiis_ and elect as its consul for three consecutive terms had in that moment not throwing up for the sixth time since the beginning of his journey as his main goal.

His fingers, slender and well-cured, were clenched in a fist and his face, still young, but already showing attractive features, had taken on a greenish color resembling the vegetables he had consumed as his last meal and that, despite all his efforts, were threatening a sudden ascent up his throat. Julius, lips set tight and furrowed bow, pulled himself up and brushed his black curls out of his eyes, then got hesitantly off the bunk with an arm around his stomach: more than once he had been told that the fresh air of the deck was a more effective cure than to lay inside, in the dark, and, while he wasn’t really convinced that having the heat of two suns above his head would help, he felt desperate enough to try. If things didn’t change, he wouldn’t arrive to his aunt’s house in one piece.

Leaning to the wooden walls of the hallway with one hand, he ambled towards the outside, while touching with the other the inside of his shirt, to check if the letter he brought with him was still in its place: he could have left it in his bag, in the hold with the other passengers’ baggage, and this would have spared him useless worries, but, to guarantee to everyone on the ship the access to their belongings, the room door was kept open and Julius wasn’t willing to risk someone deciding to mess with his stuff. And so he decided to handle it himself. He trusted his own judgement more than the whole Itreyan Republic, and in that particular case there was no room left for the unexpected.

Without that letter, you have to understand, he would have been lost.

His father hadn’t given him enough money for a journey back.

When he told his son what was going to happen -he was going to spend the following months in Elai, in the house of an aunt he had never met and he had barely ever heard of-, he and Julius’ step-mother had done everything in their power to make it seem like a good thing, smiling at him in a way that the boy had found very silly and very unconvincing, but he hadn’t objected. It would have been of no use, except angering his father, who in that period seemed even more nervous than the usual.

Julius was perfectly aware of the reason why they hadn’t told him what he supposed was the truth. It wasn’t to reassure him -Atticus Scaeva wasn’t the kind of man who had the mental health of his child at heart-, as much as themselves: if they could keep him in the dark, maybe there was still hope.

The sunslight hit Julius like a slap in the face and he looked with regret at the darkness he had just come from, before heading to the bow. He crossed his arms on the balustrade and, squinting, looked in front of him, trying at the same time to divert his attention from his stomach and to spot the Liisian territory. All in vain.

A wave of nausea stronger than the others forced him to cling to the wood of the ship and he could sense his knees failing: he thought again about his room, his bed, about the life as marrowborn he had had until a few days before, and felt an enormous sense of nostalgia.

He knew that in a short time the situation at home would become tense, they would probably have to leave their house in the Ribs and go only Aa knew where -which would make, by the way, an eventual correspondence extremely difficult-, but he was convinced that he would rather have stayed in ‘Grave, his city, than be sent away in a far away province of the Republic like valuable goods.

He _hated_ feeling powerless.

It was in situations like that that he found extremely hard to believe the legends his father -who often let the pride for his _familia_ take over his common sense- loved telling after drinking too much goldwine1.

“First time on a ship?”

Suddenly distracted from the could of black thoughts over his head, Julius glanced over his left shoulder and his dark eyes met the light ones of a Vaanian boy around his age, a lock of hair covering the left side of his face and lips stretched in a friendly smile.

Except that Julius wasn’t in the mood to make new friends.

“No” he then replied, dry “Why?” He immediately regretted opening his mouth: the vegetables had again engaged his stomach in battle. He had no idea which would win, but he knew he would for sure lose.

“I too was sick when I traveled for the first time by sea,” answered the other, not put at unease by his lack of cordiality “but then, going back and forth between Elai and GodsGrave multiple times a year, I got used to it”

_Good for you_, thought Julius, but he kept the comment to himself.

No one spoke.

“Are you with your parents?”

“No”

“With someone else?”

“I travel alone”

Talking and keeping his nausea under control was also causing him an headache.

“Me too!” the boy pulled himself up on the balustrade, seemingly uncaring of the slow rolling of the boat, and put his feet -that only in that moment Julius noticed were bare- around the ropes, to keep himself in balance “My mum works in ‘Grave as a tailor, while my dad is a doctor under the service of a _domina_ in Elai, so I travel from one city to another when I want to.” No answer “What about you, instead?”

Julius was tempted to ignore the question and not to reply, but, even turning his head, he could feel on his neck the stare of the other -very eager to have a chat with the first person around his age met in all those turns- and there was no way he was going to surrender before getting an answer.

So Julius sighed, rolled his eyes and gave him a brief look.

“My father is a senator” His fingers tapped on the wood in front of him “My mother is dead”

“Oh”

That seemed to finally silence him.

“I’m sorry”

Julius wasn’t, actually, but he didn’t say that. Livia Scaeva had died a few days after giving birth to him and he knew almost nothing about her, apart from what his father and the servants -when they could still afford them- told him: it had been an arranged marriage, not particularly happy, but not particularly disastrous either, and when Atticus decided it was the time to remarry, his step-mother took the place of the previous _domina_ in a ridiculously short amount of time. Julius didn’t consider her a mother either. He found it difficult to see an authoritarian figure in the girl just ten years older than him that spent all her time trying on dresses and chatting with her friends in their living room.

_Are they selling her clothes, right now?_ He considered, absent-minded.

_Are they selling mine?_

He shook his head and tried not to think about it.

Even if he had known with certainty, the situation would have stayed the same.

“L…Listen, now I have to go” The other seemed too realize that his presence was not welcomed, and Julius forced himself not to smile: he had already verified more than once that talking about his mother was an excellent way to end unpleasant conversations, even if the pity he sometimes could sense in the eyes of others annoyed the ‘byss out of him.

“Allright”

“But, first, take this” The boy took Julius’ left hand and he, too taken aback to reply, found himself holding two bracelets with a sort of stiff button framed in their middle. Noticing his perplexed gaze, his interlocutor started explaining:

“Put them more or less three fingers under your wrist and they should make the seasickness go away. My dad gave them to me, but I don’t need them and the journey is still long: they’ll probably serve you better”

Julius lowered his gaze over what he held in his hand and then again in the spot where up until a moment before there had been the Vaanian boy, but he saw with surprise that he was already gone.

He didn’t know whether to accept the help of that stranger -experience taught him that when people did you a favor, it was to ask you a much bigger one in the future-, but a sudden turn of his stomach gave him no other choice.

_Well, might as well try, I suppose._

At first he felt as nothing had changed, and he was ready to take off those stupid things and throw them outboard, when he realized that, slowly, but gradually, the feeling of persisting sickness he had felt in the previous turns was fading.

It was as if someone had lifted a weight off his shoulders.

In a matter of seconds, he found the sky bluer, the sea clearer and even the scorching heat of the suns, still annoying, didn’t burden him like before.

As his state improved, and therefore with his brain more lucid, came a faint sense of guilt for the unkind way he had treated the Vaanian boy, who he didn’t even know the name of.

He considered looking for him, to say he was sorry and to thank him for his gift -and verify that he truly didn’t want anything in exchange for it-, but a gust of wind caressed his face and ruffled his curls and he decided that he would stay where he was some moments more, leaning to the baluster and enjoying the view.

For the first time since he put foot on the ship, Julius closed his eyes and smiled, forgetting for just a moment all his worries.

To his sudden mood change, the shadows around him flickered and stretched, twirling and twisting themselves as if they were alive.

No one on the deck, however, noticed.

Not even him.

1The legend, that Julius with reason found embarrassing and carefully avoided mentioning, once he came to power, traced back to the time when the _familia _Scaeva was one of the biggest and most powerful in all the Republic. With the clear intent of winning the favor of his electors and of the clergy, one of the various _patres familias_ spread rumors that no other than Aa the Everseeing had appeared in the dreams of his great-great-great-grandfather to bless his family and to prophesy them a future full of splendor and grandeur.

All went well, until someone with a particular love for family trees (or a particular resentment towards them, you choose) pointed out that the aforementioned great-great-great-grandfather had an habit of heavy eating before going to sleep and the gossip became less and less believed and remembered as the years went by (and, when it was, people just loved making fun of it).

My most perceptive readers might have noticed an hint of tragic irony in all of this and to them I can only say: destiny adores taking the piss out of us, gentlefriends.

Original version:[here](https://villainsmatter.tumblr.com/post/188629261707/ive-finished-the-first-chapter-of-the-thing-in)


	3. Multa paucis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you're liking at least a bit of this: it'b been such a long time since I had last felt inspired and now I'm writing again after months. I really have to thank Nevernight and in particular Scaeva for this: I know that pretty much no one cares for him, but I'm so endlessly fascinated by him that I couldn't help myself.  
Since English is not my first language, I'd 100% appreciate if you left a comment to let me know what you think of the story and of how I'm writing it. Translating can be difficult at times and I want to be sure I'm doing a good job.  
As always, I'll link the Italian version at the end of the chapter as soon as I post it on my Tumblr page dedicated to Nevernight (@senatum-populiis). Thank you for reading!

**E**lai was not at all what he had expected.

Despite having traveled a bit, especially when he was very little, around the territories of the Republic, Julius had never seen Liis, of which he had only heard from his -itreyan- history books and from his father, who considered anything different than the capital a bunch of selvages with an an annoying and incomprehensible language. The view he was presented with, once he got off the walkway, therefore, caught him unprepared: instead of a small clutch of little houses, Elai was composed by buildings several floors tall, with Luminatii’s guard towers visible for miles around -to prevent that province from forgetting it was, in fact, a province and starting act a bit too much on its own- and whose walls, most of them of a blinding white, reflected light so much it hurt. Men and women with dark eyes in colorful clothes walked around fish and meat stalls -likely the market- and, even from afar, Julius could hear them bargain in a language he could only understand a few words of -the ones he had learnt from his text books and that, he realized, he had always mispronounced in his head-, but that seemed much more melodious than how his father had depicted it.

Until a couple of turns before, he could have never imagined feeling so disoriented in a territory that, according to logic, belonged to Itreya and regretted his lack of research before departing from his city.

Of course, ‘Grave was full of Liisian slaves -‘Grave was full of slaves, if you payed attention-, but the young boy never really considered starting a conversation worthy of the name with one of them: he was the son of a marrowborn, after all.

_But for how much longer? _He asked himself, bitting his lips and avoiding by a hair being crushed by a chariot traveling too close to the roadside: he was on what he believed -hoped- was the city main road, or at least the information in broken Itreyan he had managed to gather from the people at the harbor seemingly pointed in that direction. His aunt’s manor -identifiable thanks to Aa’s symbol placed on the top end of the gates, as his father had told him- had to be there, somewhere, but between the dust, the noise, the combined heat of the two suns and the fact that he hadn’t eaten for a whole day, he felt he would collapse any minute if he didn’t find it. The leather straps of his bag were cutting his skin through his thin shirt and the bag itself, too big on his shoulders, made him lose balance with every sudden movement. Despite being pretty tall for his twelve years, and therefore standing out amongst children around his age, his body struggled to bulk up, in that period especially for the lack of food, and this made Julius seem, in the eyes of others, particularly frail and defenseless1. Even if you couldn’t say he had to face extreme hardships -the stomach cramps that make impossible to get up in the morning, the constant nausea even though you haven’t grabbed a bite for two or three days, the ashy complexion of who has less and less strength in their body-, his _familia_ had to make sacrifices more than once during that year.

And, apparently, not even those had been enough.

Atticus had told him that his aunt, wife of his mother’s late brother, was the only heir to a wealthy family and, therefore, pretty rich herself. Julius didn’t exactly know what could bring a woman like her to welcome a distant relative, but he prayed that the content of the letter he had brought with him would be sufficient. He had been more than once tempted to open it -he wanted to know how serious the situation was, know what he had to expect from this encounter-, but his father’s wax seal was too well done and he didn’t have candles with him to fix eventual damages. The fear not to be accepted in his relative’s house prevailed, in that moment, over his curiosity.

_One step at a time, Julius, one step at a time._

When exhaustion became too much and he could take it no more, he put the bag on the ground, next to a crossroad and sat on it, elbows on his knees and hands holding his head: looking around, he saw that the crowd, less big than in the harbor, but still thick, was channelled towards a bottleneck that forced it to slow down, with the resultant sighs, eye-rollings, and curses Julius could well enough understand, even not knowing the language.

At some point, something on the right side of the road captured his interest: a man, who seemed even older than his father, had stopped under a balcony, an arm outstretched and an hand leaning on the wall. At first look, Julius thought he had to be a drunkard who just got out of a tavern and who, not being able to stand on his feet, was waiting for the dizziness to partially go away. But then, having a better look at him, he recognized well-made clothes -not a consul, and not even a tribune, but… some low-ranking official, maybe?- and his movements, strange indeed, didn’t seem to belong to a costumer who had drunk a little too much: it was, instead, as if he were talking with someone. But, even straining his eyes, the boy wasn’t able to see his interlocutor.

To a sudden move of the crowd, the man had to move from his position and take a few steps back, clearly upset by the interruption, and Julius could finally see the counterpart in the dialogue.

Pressed against the wall, hands clenched into fists, stood a little Liisian girl with an olive complexion and waist-length black hair combed in a braid: she was dressed in what once could have been a nice dress -after all those years spent listening to his step-mother rambling on her clothes, Julius had gathered tons of often useless information on Itreyan fashion-, but that now seemed threadbare and, above all, too short. Even her shoes had to be in the same condition. The boy thought she had to be a couple years younger than him, even if her stature and the submissive posture she kept had probably influenced his assessment: every attempt she made to make herself look smaller showed how intimidated she was by the smiling individual just a few feet away from her.

If you could call “smile” the grimace he had on his face.

The man reached out and she took another step back, pressing her body to the wall and becoming, if possible, even more defenseless: realizing he had intimidated, maybe frightened, her, her interlocutor stepped back and stayed in silence, thinking, for a couple of seconds, before opening again his lips in what Julius could only define as a grin and pulling out of his bag a brown pouch. He opened it and, despite the distance, the boy could see with certainty that the stranger had taken out of it two beggars, and that he was showing them to the little girl with the air of someone who’s guessed the winning move in a chess game.

She, at first still hesitating, seemed to change her mind at the sight of the coins and, with slow and dragging movements, got a bit closer to the man, who, always with the pouch in a hand, raised the other to caress her face.

And, just like that, it happened.

The small girl, moving in a way she had, in all evidence, repeated many times in the past, drifted away from the stranger’s hand a second before it touched her cheek, arched her back and, with a look in her eyes that had nothing to do with the trembling bird she had seemed an instant before2, violently kicked the family jewels of the individual in front of her, who fell on his knees with a scream stuck in his throat, a mixture of surprise and pain on his face.

He lost the grip on the pouch of coins.

And she

took it

and started running.

It all happened in a couple of seconds, nothing more than a blink of an eye, but almost immediately a couple of passer-by noticed the situation -the man writhing on the floor with his hands in an inequivocabile position and the bouncing figure drifting away from him- and set off in her pursuit.

But, there was a problem: as Julius had rightly noticed, in that point the street was caught up in an never-ending traffic jam and none of the bulky merchants there had the body fit to move around in spaces that small.

No one, except the thief.

It didn’t take long for her to be unreachable to her trackers: pushing and shoving, with hops and fake slips, the little girl, who, left behind the appearance of a defenseless puppy, seemed instead to have arkemical current under her skin, made her way out of that mess with an easiness and a boldness that suggested she had everything under control.

After a few instants, she was out of everyone else’s sight.

Only Julius managed to keep track of her for a moment longer. Before disappearing in one of the side alleys, she turned her head towards the place she had left the old man -still on the ground, more ashamed than hurt- and, straight back and chin tilted up -in a way that reminded her only observer more of a marrowborn _domina _than a street girl-, blatantly raised the knuckles in his direction. She then lifted her gaze to check the other side of the road and there, for just a moment, she met Julius’ eyes.

An unasked question hanged above them, when she realized that someone had seen her. That someone knew where she was.

A question that disappeared in the air when Julius shook his head and pursed his lips in a thin smile.

A moment later, the alley was empty.

**A**fter that brief interlude, Julius had decided to get back on track as quickly as possible. He had witnessed more than once the golden rule that allowed powerful people to find random and unlucky replacements when the object of their anger wasn’t available and, even if he hadn’t had any role in the snatching, he knew how he’d appear, to a stranger’s eyes: a boy with dusty clothes, a bag on his shoulders, without money and no one to defend him. He’d seen dozens of scapegoats just like that, in ‘Grave.

Sure, he could have gone to the official and report where the little girl had disappeared, but, first of all, he doubted they would find her, and, second of all, he didn’t feel particular sympathy for the idiots that were so easily fooled.

His father wasn’t the sharpest blade in the arsenal -of this, the boy was sadly aware-, but if there was one thing in which he’d been excellent, from an objective point of view, it was that he’d quickly made his son’s eyes open on how ‘Grave and the Republic in general worked. Julius didn't remember his father ever reading him -or allowing him to read by himself, for that matter- children fairytales, nor him ever trying to sugarcoat the environment around them, and at least of that, by all accounts, he was grateful: it would have for sure been worse to wake up one day and seeing the world shatter before one’s eyes -realizing that life was cruel, that the Everseeing helped who helped themselves first-, than to always grow up with that mentality.

And even if sometimes Julius asked himself some questions on why Itreya had come to that point, if it’d always been like that -so hopeless, except for the ones able to move in its shadows-, and even if he never really felt satisfied with the answers he gave himself -a tightness in his chest and a bitter taste in his mouth-, he’d always been focused on taming his fear of failing.

_Listen if you can._

_Be silent if you must._

_Never let your guard down._

_There’ll be no one to keep you from falling, if you make a false move._

That was the reason he hadn’t revealed what he’d seen, on the main road: the little girl knew the rules of the game and she had used them to her own advantage.

It was a behavior, that, at least worthy of respect.

The bag had again started hurting his shoulders and he prayed Aa to be in the right direction: he didn’t know for how much longer he could take it.

He’d almost decided to sit again on the dusty pavement under his feet -and close his eyes, take a deep breath, pretend to be still in ‘Grave-, when he saw that the succession of houses stopped, leaving room to a rather long wall, in the middle of which stood an enormous gate, so white that it was almost blinding. In its center, at last, the Everseeing’s three eyes.

He’d made it.

Despite all his reasonings, Julius was still a kid and the thought of finally being in a homely environment after all those turns, even if afar from his city and the only two people he’d always considered his _familia_, filled him with warmth.

Now he only had to hope that his aunt would welcome him.

Keeping his left hand on his shirt -at least a bit reassured by presence of the letter under it-, he got closer to the gate and looked around: the house was a couple of feet from here, too distant to knock on the door, but on his right there was a cord connected to a bell, likely to announce one’s presence to the landlady.

With his heart pouncing in his chest and his forehead sweaty, Julius took the cord in his hands and shook it one, two, three times.

And then he waited.

For a couple of seconds -a scarily long time if you’re twelve and miles way from home- nothing happened. Julius was already beginning to fear that something had gone wrong, that he had been given the wrong directions, that Atticus had sent him there just to get him out of the way, when the house door opened.

“Who’s there?” asked a woman’s voice, with a strong liisian accent.

“I’m Julius” answered him, struggling to keep his voice steady and to use a tone that his father would be proud of “Julius Scaeva. My father sent me to you, _mea domina_.”

Again, silence.

Then, finally, an answer.

“Is your father Atticus Scaeva?”

“Aye, _mea domina_, he is. I have a letter here that…”

“I was waiting for you. I’m sending someone to open the gates. But mind you: you’re already late.”

Hearing those words, the temporary relief Julius had felt when the landlady had answered turned into a profound uneasiness: Atticus had told him and there had been no time to inform his aunt, that that was the reason why he’d given him the letter.

And he, as the stupid he was, had believed him.

But if she knew he was coming…

What else could his father have lied about?

He had a bad, bad feeling3.

Lost in his thoughts, he almost didn’t notice that a man, short and stocky, probably a servant, had arrived and was urging the boy to follow him.

The Everseeing’s three eyes, as fixed in the gate as in the sky, watched him go inside.

1As you’ve probably imagined, appearance was a pretty good deceiver in this case.

2She resembled, you’ll forgive my lack of elegance, a rather pissed off sand kraken. Or, if you prefer, a wellspring spider.

3Julius would learn, with time, that his intuition rarely made a mistake in expecting the worse.

Italian version: [here](https://senatum-populiis.tumblr.com/post/188920840009/soo-kavinskhhy-here-it-is-the-third-chapter)


	4. In dubis abstine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! Sorry for the long delay but University got kinda in the way and I spent those last three weeks studying... I have an exam in two weeks so I won't probably be able to upload until then, but I really really hope you'll enjoy this chapter and you'll be willing to still follow the story. I'm having so much fun writing it and I'm glad someone's actually reading it. As always, I'm thankful for the kudos and I'd really love for you to tell me what do you think of the plot/characters, until this point. The link to the Italian version will be here as well. See you (hopefully) soon!

**N**o one, within the _familia_ Scaeva, had ever been particularly devoted to the Everseeing.

They respected him, of course, as they respected the other Itreyan institutions -it would have been unseemly, and dangerous, to do otherwise, in a situation where the Church had so much power over the Republic- and more than once his father had welcomed clergymen and nuns in his home. But Julius didn’t remember ever being forced to pray, or to study texts approved by the authority -in fact, Atticus looked with ill-concealed contempt at people who trusted the gods with their problems: an interesting dichotomy if you think about what legends he went on telling-, and, reflecting upon the subject, he’d come to the conclusion that faith wasn’t something worth losing time with.

He wasn’t even really sure he believed in the presence of a god, above.

For this reason, when he first stepped into his aunt’s _domus_, what he saw left him speechless.

The entrance -a wide and broad ovoidal structure, from which departed two corridors, at the left and at the right of the front door- was of a pure white, blinding in itself, whose overall effect was worsened by the enormous windows over the main staircase, so wide and so huge that they almost replaced the wall in its entirety. There were no paints, no stuccoes, none of the other decorations Julius had been used to see in the houses of rich mellowborns -as if the landlady were afraid of offending the deity she held so dear with too obvious displays of opulence-, but, on the other hand, on every wall, carved, drawn, embedded, there were tens and tens of Aa’s symbols: three circles, the same as the ones on the gate, endlessly repeated everywhere one looked, so many that they were almost sickening, and that reflected the sunslight, making the overall scene even more dazzling and unreal.

It wasn’t _too _hot, not as much you could expect, and the servant that had led him there seemed completely at ease in that environment, but Julius still felt a certain dizziness.

For some reason, he had noticed, he had started feeling more and more aggravated by the lights of the suns.

“So, you’re finally here”

At the sound of those words, his attention shifted from his thoughts and his eyes lifted to the top of the stairs: there, hands crossed and back so straight she could have been a statue, was his late uncle’s wife. Facial features and incarnate left no doubts on her Liisian inheritage and even her hair, even if with some gray stripes, were of the same pitch black Julius had already observed so many times, both between ‘Grave’s citizens and slaves, and there, in Elai; but, while outside those walls his eyes could only see colorful clothes and ornaments, the woman only wore a sort of long sleeved, white tunic, a couple of sizes too big. It seemed as if something had sucked away all her body fat, leaving only bones and edges.

After a moment of silence, she slowly came down the stairs, got closer to him, and looked him up and down, her lids half-closed.

“And so, you are Atticus’ son”

“Aye, _mea domina_, my father sent me to you because…”

His interlocutor silenced him with a gesture: “I know perfectly well why Atticus did what he did. I didn’t overall appreciate his decision, but it’s also true that _in extremis_…” she interrupted there the sentence and her expression, already grim, stiffened up even more “You said you had a letter for me, didn’t you?”

He confirmed it, then took the paper envelope from under his shirt and gave it to the lady, who took it with two fingers, with a vaguely disgusted face. The wax seal broke with a loud _click_ that seemed to echo in the whole room and Julius watched the woman read -with an exasperating slowness- Atticus’ message, a slightly furrowed brow and an unfazed expression. Once finished, she refolded the paper and gave it to the servant, who then put it in one of the pockets of his blazer.

“Bert will show you where you sleep and the rooms you’ll have access to. I expect you to learn their layout without help in little time: there aren’t enough people here to back up the ones who can’t do their job”

_Job?_

“Obviously, the places you won’t be shown are to be considered off-limits: this is not your home and, if I accepted Atticus’ offer, even if disadvantageous, it was only because he reassured me that you’re diligent enough not to behave foolishly. But do not think that I’ll be more indulgent with you just because we’re indirectly part of the same _familia_. Have you understood?”

Still confused by the whole speech and the long journey, Julius couldn’t but nod: little of what she had said was clear, but he had the feeling that asking for explanations wouldn’t improve the situation. The thought of a warm welcome, that he had caressed from time to time while getting there, on the ship, seemed already belonging to the fairytales he had never read.

The _domina _turned around, but, before leaving, she added: “I want to find you here, tomorrow, early and properly dressed,” she pursed her lips “and, most of all, clean”.

In the exact moment when she disappeared from his sight, in the long corridor on the left, Bert, who had remained still and waiting during the whole conversation, made his way towards the right side of the room, urging with gestures the boy to follow him.

Julius, his stomach tied in a tight knot and his legs shaking with fatigue, obeyed without ulterior comments.

**I**n the next hour, but that to Julius, already exhausted, seemed much more, the servant showed him the kitchens -where the cook was already making a meal whose smell followed him for a long time-, the dining room, and some smaller lounges, probably reserved to guests, everything on the ground floor. Then, climbing the long staircase, they went to the upper one, where they completely ignored an enormous door that, with a brief look through the keyhole while Bert wasn’t paying attention, Julius understood was the library; the servant instead showed him various bedrooms, meant for the guests, a couple of environments of no apparent use and then, at last, the room where he would sleep.

It was in a small and narrow corridor, as white as, it had soon become clear, every other section of the building, which channeled so much heat that Bert himself, up until then stoic and unfazed, had started showing various sweat marks on his uniform. The door, once opened, revealed a cramped room, barely enough for a bed, a nightstand and a small dresser. The only thing that wasn’t missing, to Julius’ distress, who felt sick by just looking at it, was the enormous and omnipresent window, that almost completely replaced the wall. There were tents -cold comfort-, but they were paper thin and light-colored and he knew they wouldn’t block out even half of the light needed to grant him a good sleep, he who was used to the calm and sweet darkness of the Ribs’ undergrounds. Especially not with two suns in the sky, and one about to appear.

“I haven’t seen any undergrounds, here” he tried asking -omitting the question mark- to his companion. He had no hopes for his situation to be improved -he wasn’t on vacation, that at least was clear enough, and he had no intention of making a scene like a spoiled brat-, but he wanted to understand the situation he was in. And, from what he knew, gossip was always welcomed between servants, if given the opportunity.

Bert gave him a puzzled look and Julius realized, to his horror, that that man didn’t know a single word in Itreyan, despite it being the official language of the Republic. He asked himself, with just a hint of curiosity, whether he had received an education or not, and if so, for how long.

“Down” he tried saying, pointing at the floor “Bed. Dark.”

His interlocutor looked dazed for a moment, but then, luckily, he seemed to understand, because he shook his head, and said something Julius could catch only a few words of: “Aa”, “light” and “honor”.

_They don’t have undergrounds?_ He thought, astonished, his mind back again to his house in ‘Grave _In the Everseeing’s name, where the ‘byss did my father send me?_

Bert added a couple more words -as incomprehensible as the others- and was about to take leave, but, adjusting his jacket, too tight for him, Atticus’ letter peaked out from his pocket, reminding Julius of its existence.

That piece of paper represented, at the moment, his best chance to understand what was going on without being forced to ask his aunt for explanations -who was giving for granted that his father had already let him know everything and who wouldn’t be happy to learn the contrary- nor finding himself unprepared the turn after.

But he couldn’t certainly ask it back, especially since he didn’t know how to make himself clear to the servant.

Servant who was about to go away, taking the opportunity with him.

He looked around the room, saw the windows, and decided that it was worth a try.

“Curtains,” he then said, pointing at the thin cloth of fabric hanging off the ceiling “Too high” He got closer to the windowsill and attempted, without much conviction, to move them to cover the glass: as he wanted, they did not move. “Help?” he asked, and waited for an answer.

Bert, once again, stayed still for a couple of seconds, perplexed, but when he understood what the boy wanted to tell him nodded and -with a hand gesture- asked him to step aside.

The thing was, however, that Bert, despite being an adult, wasn’t that much taller than Julius, and the task seemed pretty difficult even for him. Between the suns, the heat and the fatigue, the man started sweating almost immediately, so profusely that he stopped for a moment and, with Julius’ joy and relief -since he hadn’t put much faith in his idea-, threw his jacket over the dresser, while completing the maneuverings.

The letter was in Julius’ hands, and then in the gap between the dresser and the wall, in less than a second. In the meantime, Bert had finished closing the curtains and the room had fallen in a partial twilight, better than before, but not even comparable to what Julius wanted.

Anyway, he would have to make do with it.

He politely thanked the man2, who, in return, smiled at him, and gave him back his jacket, barely waiting for the servant to go away and close the door behind him before pulling out the letter from the crawl space.

His hands shaking, he sit on the dresser and started reading:

**"A**tticus Hëloisei salutem dicit*

I hope You’ll receive this letter as soon as possible, _mea domina_, and its carrier with it. When I wrote you the first missive, almost two months ago -_two months ago_… Julius’ heart skipped a beat reading those words- I was aware that it was to be considered a little unconventional, and I was even more aware that Our conduct towards You should have been of a rather different sort.

Still, my belief that the present solution had the potential to be the most beneficial for us both turned out to be correct: the lack of trusted servants has always been, I agree with You, a great flaw in our society, but I can guarantee you that Julius will be able to carry out his tasks in the bast way possible. He’s young, maybe a bit inexperienced, but also smart, and a quick learner.

And, most important of all, he knows his place.

With this letter, I consider him Yours to employ and use, until You’ll consider the debt We have with your _familia_ completely repaid.

Certain that our partnership will lead to the results we both hope,

May the Everseeing watch over You,"

Formalities, and his father’s signature, followed.

For a couple of seconds, Julius stood still, lips pursed and gaze fixed on the words in front of him.

From the door, closed, no noises came, nor from the servants nor from other guests.

Time itself seemed to have stopped flowing.

Maybe, had someone looked through the keyhole, they could have glimpsed dark shadows dancing at the feet of the boy, swelling and deflating to the rhythm of his breath, blurred and tinged in the twilight created by the curtains.

But no one was there, and no one noticed.

And Julius himself, who had always considered himself a great observer, for sure had something else on his mind.

Throughout his -brief- life, his father had done nothing but telling him how the world was harsh. Unfair. Selfish. He had explained that, and then had showed it to him with facts, taking him to places and making him see things that had impressed him much more than he had ever realized.

Julius _knew_, had always _known_, that his own safety would be solely based on the means he would employ to achieve what he wanted, that not being willing to use some of them would expose him to the risk of being used.

But, after all, Julius was also a twelve-years-old boy. And something within him, behind his own back, still held onto the belief, as all children of his age do, that -as horrible and hopeless the world could be, as opportunist and upstart people could get to achieve their goals- he would always find a safe place in his _familia_. In the people he felt he belonged to.

So, yes, he could say he knew, theoretically, loneliness, but he had never tested it, never felt it, as a first-hand experience.

At least, not until that moment.

And in that small room, while the sunslight faintly filtered through the curtains, sitting on a wooden dresser, miles away from home, in a province unknown to him for its language, its customs, its inhabitants, a letter in his hands that was basically selling him to a stranger for an indefinite amount of time, without hope for a ransom, Julius learned his first great life lesson:

_Little do bounds count, no matter how strong, when faced with the urge to survive._

1With more malice than needed, perhaps, Julius asked himself if she had re-climbed the staircase after answering the door just to make her entrance more remarkable.

2He didn’t catch the habit of thanking the servants from his father -who considered them with the same regard as the rags to mop the floor- but from his step-mother, vain and silly, maybe, but never impolite. Julius had observed both behaviors, noticed that their dependents adapted much more eagerly to their _domina_’s whims than to her husband’s, and therefore drawn the conclusion that pretending some kind of consideration towards them could have some benefits.

...

What? Did you believe his behavior to be simply dictated by kindness? _Amateurs_.

*A Latin salutation used in formal letters. I couldn’t resist putting some more Roman stuff into the story, sorry.

Italian version: [here](https://senatum-populiis.tumblr.com/post/189168395484/sooo-kavinskhhy-this-is-the-next-chapter-in)


	5. In vili veste nemo tractatur honeste

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I'm very sorry for making you wait this long but... life (and study) got kinda in the way and then writer's block hit hard. Hopefully, I'll be back to posting with regularity! Thank you to everyone who's reading! I really hope you'll keep enjoying the story and its developments!

**E**ven after years, and even after much more unpleasant and stressful experiences behind him, Julius would always consider that first month in his aunt’s house as his darkest turns.

Assessment, this, that -despite what one could think- didn’t hinge on the unfamiliar environment he had been thrown into, or the feeling of exhaustion felt at the moment of laying down -and that never vanished completely-, or the nostalgia for his home and his _familia_.

The lack of sleep and the tiredness -even if more psychological and less physical- would be his companions for a long time, even in his happiest days. And he never thought of himself as particularly sentimental.

No, the unpleasant feeling that those memories brought him was founded on the fact that, for the first and perhaps last time in his life, -while he scratched his hands washing the rooms floors, burned his fingers carrying hot dishes from the kitchens to the dining room and ran under Elai’s suns carrying messages written in a language he could not understand- Julius wasn’t able to think.

Since he could remember, his mind was never too focused on the present. He didn’t love short-term programs, or easy competitions. The future, as uncertain and unpromising as it could be -like in the past months-, had always appeared to him full of possibilities and opportunities. Being without projects to work on, without goals to achieve, for a long time, seemed like a waste of time to him.

But in the situation he was, with his aunt who carefully avoided mentioning a deadline for his staying at her home and nothing else on the horizon, except the umpteenth workload the turn after, there wasn’t much to wait and even less to hope for.

He had considered, in a moment of particular discouragement, the idea of running away. Packing his few belongings, leaving when everyone was sleeping or with the excuse of a commission and getting lost in the thousands of people living in Elai. But he had soon realized that that fantasy, even if pleasant, was totally unrealizable: he didn’t have the money or any idea on where to find it, and he couldn’t hope to reach ‘Grave, since between him and the city there was the sea. And the Liisian dialect, which he was trying his hardest to learn, was still pretty much incomprehensible to him.

Atticus knew his son well -he knew he would try to find a way out- and he had arranged everything to force him to obey.

To force him_ to keep his place._

And so Julius had to adapt to the circumstances, with the -not much comforting- awareness he was still doing something good for his _familia_.

His turn started way before the landlady got up -even if, he had to admit, she was quite a riser herself-, ended an hour after she went to bed and his duties, simple indeed, were so many that he rarely got to complete them all in time, with the result of having to work when all the others were already asleep. He had learned, as requested, the location of the rooms as quickly as he could -his memory was sharp, neither his father nor his teachers had ever found anything to complain about on that-, but he still struggled to distinguish the house workers from one another: only Bert was easily recognizable -thanks to his stature and size- and he had became one of the few standing points that the boy had in the house.

It wasn’t that he liked the man -and it was also true that Julius would always struggle to find people he _truly_ liked-, but he was a calming and constant presence in an unknown environment, slow to anger and lacking the superiority he could read on the older servants’ faces when they talked to him, the newcomer.

They understood each other better, now, since Julius had started grasping a bit of Liisian and had taught Bert a couple of basic Itreyan terms: their conversations weren’t complex, but still provided a form of human contact not based only on giving and following orders.

His aunt, since his arrival, had never even looked at him.

The only other source of comfort Julius had was the book, dusty and half-eaten by moths, he had found at the bottom of the dresser in his room.

It was written in Liisian, and therefore not easy to read, but, from what he could comprehend, it had to be a sort of bestiary, containing both real and imaginary animals -or, at least, he hoped they were imaginary-: he didn’t have much time to devote to it -five minutes each turn, when lucky-, but turning those pages, observing its figures and trying to decipher its words, on his bed, before sleeping, served him as a reminder that it was -had to be- a temporary solution.

That he would not spend his years mopping floors waiting for the unlikely payment of a debt.

That he would sneak away, thin and quick as the snake in the illustration at the exact half of the book, and nothing and no one would trap him again.

That fate would grant him much better days than the ones he was living.

He just had to wait.

**O**ften, big events start from others, infinitely smaller.

In Julius’ case, it happened because of a letter.

**H**e was working in the stables, that turn, changing the straw in the horse-boxes and trying to approach the animals as little as he could. He had soon noticed, in fact, that they felt towards him a very peculiar antipathy: in the past turns, he had had to avoid kicks, bites and foot stampings. A couple of times, he had even been forced to rush in front of the gate to prevent the animals from running away.

At first, he had thought he had done something wrong, and had tried asking Bert for suggestions, but he hadn’t been able to help him: it seemed that with everyone else those nags’s behavior was impeccable.

His only hope was to survive until the end of the week.

He had almost completed the first line of fences, when he heard the door behind him opening: thinking someone had come to take his place, he turned and found himself face to face with a guy slightly older than him, fiery red hair and skin covered in freckles, who looked at him, turning his nose.

His clothes and the tone of his skin showed he wasn’t from the city and Julius blushed, aware that his look was far from being decent: between his hair, much longer now than when he had arrived, his trousers and jacket dirty with straw and his face red for the strain, nothing remained to show his past belonging to the Itreyan nobility.

He felt shame and he hated himself for it.

Surprise still replaced awkwardness when the other, without never changing his expression of condescending superiority, called his by his name, with an accent that couldn’t but belong to Godsgrave.

“Are you Julius Scaeva?”

_How did that stranger know him? And why did he know where to find him?_

Shocked and doubtful at the same time, and mindful of his father’s teachings, the boy simply stared back, without answering.

But his interlocutor wasn’t seemingly willing to wait: “So what? What’s your problem, are you deaf? I asked you if you’re Julius Scaeva. I have to deliver him a letter, and I have no time to waste”

The boy’s attention peaked at that last statement: “A letter? From who?”

“So you _are_ the addressee?”

Curiosity -and, with it, hope- was too much not to reply immediately.

The messenger -Julius found out with relief after receiving the paper envelope- had already been paid and therefore went away almost immediately: there was just a last exchange of looks between them -between the boy dirty with mud and dust who clang to that missive as if his life depended on it and the young adult properly dressed who had just given it to him-, but Julius would remember for a long time the feeling of those eyes on his skin.

Disgust.

Contempt.

A little bit of pity, maybe.

The shadows at his feet trembled slightly.

Still, the moment he found himself once again alone in the stables, everything else lost importance against what he had in his hands: good news, of that he was sure. He hadn’t received any update since his arrival to Elai, but in that letter his father would without a doubt explain him what was happening at home and would finally tell him under what conditions he could come back.

The red wax seal on the white parchment symbolized all the hope he felt under his skin, faint but persistent, while, biting his lip, he sat on the ground and prepared himself to read.

Click.

The seal shattered.

And not only that.

At first, Julius didn’t recognize the sender.

It wasn’t his father, of that he was sure.

Instead of the writing, elegant and borderline-excessive, Atticus filled pages and pages with -doodles so complex that, as aesthetically pleasing as they were, made it almost impossible to decipher the actual content of the message-, the words were regular, and the calligraphy was minute and precise, similar to the style exercises his tutors had given him when he was little: it showed, though, some irregularities, as if the hand holding the pen had trembled while writing.

But, when Julius’ attention focused on its content, the sender’s identity almost immediately ceased to be a mystery.

His step-mother.

And the reason why it was her who was writing to him, and not his father, was that…

When he read that part -_despite our efforts, the debts were too many to cover, most of all in so little time: we tried all we could, but our creditors wouldn’t listen to reason…_\- his heart skipped a beat: he was angry at Atticus, that was true. After finding out the true reason why he had been sent to Elai, he had felt betrayed. He had believed he was never going to forgive him.

But he was his father.

And he could have never wished…

A couple of years prior, one of the body guards of a senator had been accused of stealing in his home. Voices had said it wasn’t true, that the senator himself had had to get ridden of an art object of uncertain origin and had therefore justified its disappearance by accusing the other man, but none of those voices had stepped forward to defend the prosecuted. The proofs charging him hadn’t been many, but added to the senator’s influence had been sufficient to doom him.

Julius had been one of the spectators, when it happened. Atticus had wanted him to see that as well.

And so, yes, he’d seen that mountain, that muscled and inflexible giant, whose face had stayed unfazed throughout the entire trial, fall on his knees before the judge and beg him.

_“Please! I’ll do anything… anything! But not that!”_

The boy had turned towards his father and seen the wrinkles on his forehead becoming more marked.

It had been on that occasion, that Julius had heard talking about The Philosopher’s Stone for the first time.

And there, in the stables, while receiving the news, written in no uncertain terms, that Atticus too had been taken to that place, his mind went to those moments. To the shouting. To the despair. To what had been told to him, once back to the Ribs.

And he felt the last glint of trust he had up until then jealously carried within himself burn out all at once.

His stay at his aunt’s house seemed now lacking of meaning.

Even if he worked for years, without ever stopping, he didn’t know how much it would take to repay all the debts. Nor did he knew which and how many creditors his father had in ‘Grave.

Atticus would never see the sunslight again.

And he would never get his old life back.

Julius felt his throat close and his sight blur, and struggled to choke back tears.

_Crying meant showing weakness_, this had always been taught to him.

But what else could he do?

**H**e didn’t know how much time had passed since the letter’s arrival -for how long he had sat on the straw, that piece of paper in his hands and his eyes swollen- when the door behind him opened again.

He knew who it was as soon as he heard heels ticking on the wooden floor.

“Bert told me you had received a message from Atticus. I hope these are good news and…” Hëloise stopped the moment her gaze met Julius’.

“What did he write to you?”

He opened his mouth to reply, but felt he wouldn’t be able to explain without his voice trembling -and no, he would not burst into tears in front of her, he would not let it happen-, so what he did was, more simply, to hand her the letter and let his step-mother’s words speak for him.

The woman quickly read the letter and, when she finished, Julius noticed that the frown she had kept in his presence since he had arrived had softened. Or, maybe, it was only his imagination looking for comfort where there wasn’t any.

Neither of them commented on the content of the message, but, while the boy stayed silent, fearing what his aunt could say, she instead seemed attentively ponder on something.

A decision.

A memory.

“Follow me” she said, at last, her back already turned, headed towards the door. Julius, who had been expecting a completely different reaction -rage, maybe, or a shrug and the order to go back to work- was taken aback by her words for a second, but, seeing she showed no sign of slowing down and gave for granted he was behind her, didn’t have other choice but to follow her.

Besides, it was difficult for the situation to get even worse1.

Once back in the _domus_ through the service door, they walked the right corridor and then climbed the main staircase: it was the afternoon of the fifth turn of the week, which meant it had just been washed with soap, and Julius knew, because of experience, that combining a slippery floor and a steep staircase could result in a dangerous situation. Just two weeks before, in fact, he had descended that flight running, without paying enough attention, and, losing his balance, had almost clashed with a tall and blonde man he had never seen before.

That individual hadn’t seemed to care that much, but he didn’t believe it would have been the same had in his place been Hëloise.

Once arrived upstairs, they didn’t go in the direction of the corridor where Julius had his room -and where, he had almost immediately understood, all the other servants slept as well2-: his aunt took a bronze key from one of her pockets, put it in the locket of the library door and, with her nephew’s great stupor, made it turn two times, up until the cogs in it clicked.

When the doors opened, despite the anguish he felt in his chest, Julius widened his eyes and held his breath.

The room before him was roughly fifty meters long and wide two times that, perfectly rectangular, with a marble floor decorated with regular patterns and a paneled ceiling; in front of the entrance, the omnipresent windows occupied the whole wall, making of that room yet another tribute to the deity so adored by his aunt.

But it wasn’t the light, or the its wideness that struck him.

Because if one of the walls was only made of glass, the other three were covered in books.

Shelves ten times Julius’s height rose from the floor and touched the plaster above their heads, so full with volumes he feared some of them could fall and ruin on the floor: there was order, though, an almost maniacal one, and, going through the books covers, the boy could recognize most of the books he had studied on, some he had heard of, and some he had never even known existed.

And the binding… Julius was the son of a marrowborn full of debts, that was true, but still a marrowborn.

And he knew quality when he saw it.

Not even in his house, in ‘Grave, he had ever had something remotely similar.

For a moment, he forgot his problems, his fears, any negative feeling felt in those last turns, and lost himself completely in contemplation of the view he had in front of him.

He was distracted from his thoughts by his aunt’s voice, who was tinkering with a wooden stair that seemed all but stable:

“When I was young, I was an unbeliever. I thought the Everseeing’s word was nothing but -Aa please forgive me- a bunch of fibs for gullible people. I thought myself above those silly superstitions.” While talking, she was trying to frame the stair in some grooves on the floor and in some hooks pending from the ceiling: Julius was just starting to think he’d better go there and give her some assistance, when the swinging movements came to an end.

“Luckily, His hand guided me, and made me understand that the only fool, there, was me.”

And, saying those words, she started climbing.

After a moment of hesitation, so did Julius.

Halfway the climb, Hëloise started talking again: “Your father, too, I’m sure, has the same opinion on our religion. He thinks himself too clever submit to an invisible power. I know men like him far too well” She sighed “And I suppose he made you share his thoughts”

There was so much contempt in her voice, so little consideration for his _familia_, that Julius felt that last bit of pride he still had fight with his common sense -_Listen if you can. Be silent if you must._-, but he couldn’t reply. Sincerity, at that juncture, was precluded to him.

“But, luckily, the Everseeing listens to everyone, even the ones who’d deserve it the least, if they show him good will.”

At that point, Julius noticed they had stopped climbing and, looking up, he understood why: even though the light and the candor of the environment created the illusion that the shelves touched the ceiling, reality was that they instead stopped roughly two meters before the plaster, leaving a space sufficient for a person of average height to walk without bending down. A balustrade, so thin it was invisible from the floor, had been positioned there with the purpose of avoiding unpleasant accidents.

But what the ‘byss could there be of that importance?

“Only I have the keys to this room” His aunt was standing in centre of the passage and that kept Julius from seeing what was behind her “It’s the quietest place in the house. That’s why I chose it as my place of worship”

Julius had reached the end and was standing exactly in front of Hëloise. His eyes met hers, his skepticism clearly visible in his gaze.

“Mea domina, I’m not sure I understand what you want me to do”

She frowned: “I don’t _want_ you to do anything. But the Everseeing’s way are endless. And he could decide to help you, and help your father too, if you asked him in the right way. That’s why I brought you here”

Julius was tempted to ask her in reply why she couldn’t directly help him, instead of Aa, removing a couple of intermediaries and also all the uncertainty of speaking to an omnipotent -and almost surely inexistent- deity, but he didn’t have the time to do so, because his aunt stepped aside, pointing with her finger to a spot at the end of the walkway, twenty meters from where they were.

He felt it, much before seeing it.

A burning so strong he thought his skin was melting.

A sensation of suffocation that pressed against his chest and blurred his eyes.

Julius had experienced the pain of bruises, injuries and broken bones. But never, never in all his life, he had ever believed there could exists an evil so absolute. So devastating. So unbearable3.

His legs failed him and he crumbled to the floor, while terror and confusion fought for that tiny part of his mind not twisting in agony.

_What’s happening to me?_

He heard his aunt asking him something, but her words were blurred and, anyway, even if he had heard them, he couldn’t have answered.

_Please make it stop please make it stop please-_

With an extreme effort, he managed to lift his gaze towards Hëloise -her face, now nothing else than a pink spot, seemed devoid of expression- and for a second, behind her, he saw, stuck to the wall, something burning with the power and the rage of a deity.

Then, all went dark.

1Is there even the need for me to comment on this last affirmation?

2It was the hottest part of the house, obviously.

3Hatred, as Julius would soon discover, held a much similar power.


	6. Do ut des

**H**eat.

Heat and a pulsing headache.

These the first two things Julius felt, as soon as he regained consciousness.

His eyes still closed, he could sense in front of him the presence of a light source, almost surely a window: that was the reason, altogether with the habit already acquired in that last period, why the thought he was still in his room and that he had fallen asleep without remembering to close the curtains, too exhausted by a particularly heavy day.

But then, he realized that hypothesis was to be discarded.

At the time, what Julius had as a bed was a wooden board, which almost touched the ground, a dusty sheet as mattress and a dirty rag as pillow. Very different from the much more luxurious accommodations he would experiment in later years. But still, gentle friends, there was a certain difference between that and the feeling of laying down on hard stone.

And, when he realized that, Julius remembered, with anguish more than with relief, what had happened in the last few hours.

The stables.

The letter.

The library.

The pain.

He quickly got up, eyes narrowed to check out the environment around him and muscles tense, despite feeling himself tremble: whatever thing had hit him while he was with his aunt had disappeared, but fear had stayed. And his body, already slender and under stress for the lack of food,certainly wasn’t reacting in the best way possible.

He had never seen the room where he was before. It was small, and rectangular, and got all its light from a long and narrow window right in front of him, overlooking a fallow piece of tall grass. Apart from the stone plate on which he had woken up -and which, he realized, was placed in its very centre- all the other pieces of furniture were in wood -a cupboard with cans and flasks on his left and a wardrobe and a sort of sink on his right- and seemed, if not in poor condition, at least of a very different quality than the ones he had up until then seen in the house.

The door was, instead, on the wall opposite to the window and it was right when he turned towards it, a bitter taste in his mouth and his throat dry, that Julius noticed he wasn’t alone.

Perched on a chair, right beside the handle, a knee pressed to his chest and the other lazily left dangling, sat a boy around his age, a constellation of freckles around his nose and a rebel clamp of hair framing his face. Julius had the impression he had already seen him before, but he was still too groggy to remember exactly where. He was keeping his eyes closed, and Julius was on the point of assuming he had fallen asleep _-he was facing the sun… how was it possible for anyone to fall asleep like that?- _when he opened his eyes and, once his gaze focused on the room and realized his guest had gotten up, spread his lips in the most friendly smile Julius had ever seen directed at him1.

“Ah, you’re awake! Amazing! My father will be super happy!”

It was the voice, much more than the physical appearance, which lightened up something in his memory. After all, even when he had met him, he had given him a little more than one look. It had been a month since his experience on that ship, a month since a surprisingly kind stranger had gifted him those strange devices to fight sea-sickness, and even if he didn’t remember those moments with particular glee, Julius considered them his last of true freedom for Aa knew how long. Willing or not, he often rethought about them.

He opened his mouth to speak and question the boy -_where I am? what happened? who are you?_-, but he was already on his feet and tinkering with the door handle, the smile never fading away from his lips: “You stay here, now I’ll go call him: he’ll be here in less than a second”

And, before he had time to reply, Julius found himself alone again in the room.

His first impulse, dictated by uneasiness and confusion, was to open the window, climb down the sill and run away. Even if the stranger had seemed nice enough, and the room appeared innocuous, he couldn’t help but think that the aunt also had seemed to want to help him, after reading the letter.

But then, the pain had come.

And if there was something Julius was sure of, it was that he was never ever going to feel something as atrocious as that in his whole life.

Never again2.

But Julius wasn’t the kind of person who indulged his instincts without accurately weighing them and he soon realized, after a couple of seconds of ponderation, that if he acted in that way he would commit an enormous foolishness.

In the first place, he began thinking, tapping with his fingertips on the stone plate, he would still have no idea where to go. Whether they had taken him away from his aunt’s house or brought in one of the rooms “forbidden” to him, his situation hadn’t changed: he was a twelve-year-old boy in a city he didn’t know and he didn’t know the language of, without money or footing of any kind. He was alone and powerless exactly as he had been when he had first laid foot on Elais’ ground.

In the second place, what had happened to him hours before still needed an explanation. He couldn’t keep living in tranquillity without knowing what exactly had so viciously hit him. He hadn’t disobeyed or disappointed his aunt’s expectations in the weeks he had worked for her. And his main suspect, namely that she had wanted to get revenge on him for his father’s inability to repay the debt, still didn’t explain how she had managed to do that. Arkemic magic? It seemed unlikely, given the adoration his aunt felt for the Everseeing, but it wasn’t to be excluded. And Julius had no intention to be caught unprepared a second time.

In the third place, and that was maybe the reason which most of all pushed him to stay, he remembered that the boy, talking to him, on that ship, had said his father was a physician. Sure, that profession allowed its practitioners to know not only the methods to heal, but also the ones to hurt, and if truly his aunt wanted to punish him, she could ask a professional and she would get a clean job out of it, but killing him wouldn’t make much sense, since his work was the only payment she could ever hope to receive form Atticus. It was much more likely she wanted to verify he was still intact, without major damages. His father also behaved this way, when he hit his slaves: they were valuable goods, after all. And maybe the doctor could explain him what exactly that pain was.

He felt shattered, scared and almost in despair -and he knew that if he thought about his father and the Philosopher’s Stone he would start crying again-, but still needed to face the situation the best he could.

Therefore, when the door opened with a barely audible squeaking, he forced himself to stop trembling -and he almost managed that, but still had to hide his hands behind his back and clench them into fists- and straightened his back, looking straight into the eyes of the man who had just entered the room and who, he noticed that with a wince, was the same man he had almost knocked off the stairs a couple of turns before.

“Our guest has finally woken up, then! Well, very well: I have to be honest, though, I was much impatient to exchange a couple of words with you, _mi domine_”

Put one right next to the other, the resemblance between father and son was striking, in both the physical appearance and the attitude: Julius had always had a keen eye for this kind of things and detected in both of them, with a tiny bit of contempt, the posture of the ones who never received a marrowborn education. Only the smile traced a dividing line between the two of them. While the boy’s one, in fact, made his whole complexion shine, the adult’s one had something mawkish and nauseating to it. It was fake.

And that, added to the fact that he had been called “_mi domine_” -and Julius knew perfectly well it wasn’t appropriate to use so much courtesy to someone of his age and in his social position-, made him move slightly backwards on the stone board he was still sitting on.

The man had noticed his reticence because he shook his head, in a gesture that at first Julius took as a rebuke, but turned out to be of pure amusement.

“You have no reason to be afraid, I can assure you. I have no intention of harming you in any way. I believe, instead, I need your help”

“You’ll have to pardon me, _mi domine,_” he said, then, expressing a sincere doubt “but I don’t understand.”

“What is that you don’t understand?”

“Nothing of what’s happening. I have no idea where I am, nor how I got here, and much less what has happened to me that brought me here. May I be so bold as to ask you for an answer to these questions? I doubt I could be of much help, otherwise”

He instantly regretted that last sentence, which had maybe seemed harsher than he had intended, but his interlocutor didn’t even seem to notice, because he kept smiling at him with that same -and fake- amiable tone.

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“The library” he answered, after a moment of hesitation “I was in the library, with my a… with my landlady” He quickly corrected himself: he didn’t know who would hear that conversation after them and, as much as he felt annoyed at the thought of being considered someone else’s property, he recognized that it was in those terms that his aunt spoke to him. Not as a member of the family for sure. “We climbed up a stair because she wanted me to see something and then…” he frowned, pretending to focus, despite knowing perfectly well what had happened after that “… pain. A lot of pain. I didn’t understand why.” He lowered his gaze, almost without wanting to “Then I woke up in here”.

The man nodded, as if he were mentally taking note of the facts, but Julius noticed that nothing he was saying seemed to surprise him.

Someone, probably his aunt, had already told him the whole story.

And then, right after that, looking sideways at the boy next to him, Julius remembered that talking to him about his father he had told him he worked at the service of a Liisian _domina_.

It made sense, after all.

“I believe I know what has happened to you” His interlocutor gave him a look from head to toe, without ever changing expression “But, to be sure, I’ll need to give you a checkup. Lucius!” The son turned to him -Julius took a note of his name. And of the fact that it contradicted their Vaanian origins- and raised his eyebrows, eyes widened and arms by his side. “Go bring what I have given you to our patients and tell ‘em today I won’t have time to visit them all. Tomorrow, probably, if everything goes as planned. I fear this whole situation might take away more time than I expected”

Julius saw his eyes lighten up and suddenly he started asking himself whether he hadn’t miscalculated his chances.

Whether the man, instead of helping him understand what had happened, considered him no more than an hassle.

Maybe, after all, a meeting face to face, all alone, wasn’t the best solution.

“Oh, but you don’t have to be worried for me, really” he replied “Whatever thing was that, now I’m feeling fine: it could have been caused by the heat or because of some other silliness such as that” He was very frightened again: frightened that the doctor would consider that examination nothing more than a loss of time, that he would get angry because of this, and, most of all, that he would do something different from curing him. As much as he tried, it was more and more difficult to keep his fear under control.

Lucius, this time, was quicker to speak than his father: “No, it’s totally fine! Dad is an amazing physician and never ever backs out when ti comes to helping someone: it was him who has asked our landlady to make you stay in his study a little longer, instead of immediately waking you up and putting you back to work. I’m sure he’s super happy to give you some more attention, right pa?”

His father’s smile widened a bit more and his voice became even more thick: “Absolutely. You see, Julius -can I call you by your name, can’t I?-, you have to believe me: taking care of you doesn’t bother me in the slightest”

And Julius believed him, despite not feeling at all reassured by it.

“Then, I’m going!” Lucius was already at the doorstep, a hand to grip the handle and the other one to wave at them: “I’ll be back soon!” His gaze fixed on Julius’ and he felt the duty to smile back at him in return, even if he wasn’t at all thrilled to be left alone with his father.

When the door closed behind them and they didn’t even hear the noise of the footsteps anymore, the doctor turned again towards him and kept looking at him for some seconds, without speaking.

“Do I have to take my shirt off, sir?” Julius then asked, remembering how other physicians had often behaved with his father. He hadn’t lost the desire to get answers. That, never. But he felt uneasy, and he struggled to find the right words to start the conversation that most interested him. He had the feeling he had to brace himself for a clash, rather than for an examination.

“No, Julius, relax. I don’t need you to do absolutely anything, boy”

And Julius noticed that, gentle friends, Julius noticed the shift from “_mi domine_” to “boy”, coincident with his son’s disappearance from the room.

But he wasn’t able to understand why, or to ask questions, because, as soon as the doctor had pulled his hands out of the pocket he had been rummaging through, the pain came back to him, as relentless and tremendous as the first time.

With a whimper of sufferance and surprise, he curled himself up, losing his balance and falling on the marble floor, hard and scorching.

_Stop stop stop stop stop_

He felt as if he was chocking and burning alive at the same time.

Had he had enough breath, he would have screamed.

And then, when he felt he was again on the verge of unconsciousness, everything ended.

He found himself gasping on the ground, palms burned for the heat and a sensation fo nausea so strong that, hadn't his stomach been completely empty for almost an entire day, he would have for sure thrown up.

But he felt normal again. Nothing was hurting him.

Relief, though, didn’t last for long and was soon replaced by a sense of profound uneasiness as soon as Julius, raising his eyes, met the doctor’s gaze.

And saw he was smiling.

“Well well… I guess this is it” the man bent over, an arm outstretched, and he instinctively retreated, trying to catch his breath and understand what was happening -what was happening _to him_\- just to realize the other had no intention to hit him.

He was lending him a hand, to help him get up.

Julius was trembling from head to toe, he was scared, felt still in his bones the echo of that terrible pain and believed the situation could just get even worse.

But taking the hand of that man, after discovering it had been him, at least this second time, to make him feel that extreme suffering was out of question.

He had nothing more than his own pride and he was never going to let anyone take it away from him.

So, despite feeling his legs trembling, he showed no sign of accepting his offer.

Instead, slowly, he hold onto the stone plate above him and

with a groan

he stood up

by himself.

He then found himself facing the doctor, his forehead wet with sweat which didn’t even reach half of the other’s chest, and braced himself for the worst.

He was totally caught by surprise, then, when the other started laughing in response: “You have no need to be so terrified, you know? I was talking seriously when I said I didn’t want to hurt you: calm down, your secret is perfectly safe with me”

That did nothing but to confuse Julius even more: “What secret are you talking about?”

“What secret? You can stop pretending, young boy: the both of us have seen how you reacted to the simple sight of the Everseeing’s symbol. Come on, do you really want to go on with this farce?”

_The Everseeing’s symbol…_

So what had happened had been its fault?

No, that wasn’t possible: in his aunt’s house there were hundreds -maybe thousands- of similar effigies and none of them had given him the slightest bother, apart from reflecting too much light when he was mopping the floors.

_But what was the point of lying?_

“Do you really want me to tell you? Are you really that ashamed? Or maybe you’re scared… And maybe you’re not that wrong: there are people who would go out of their mind, if they knew”

“If they knew what?”

“Well, that you’re darkin” The man had told that sentence as if it were the biggest of obviousness, but Julius felt the ground tremble beneath his feet.

He had heard stories, about darkin, and none of them was particularly benign towards them.

Sure, the majority of them were horror stories to scare the children and persuade them to go to sleep -_if you don’t go straight to bed darkin will come to take your soul and eat it_ and things of that sort- and he had never put that much faith in them, not even as a child, but on one thing all stories agreed -and even him felt they were right-: darkin were evil.

Now, Julius had never felt necessary to seriously ask himself whether he was a good person or not. His father had taught him well not to have many qualms, and to hold off those few that he still had, so that they wouldn’t hinder his actions. But it was also true that, apart from some small disobedience typical of children, he had never committed a _truly_ deplorable action. And, as much as he preached his parent’s cynicism, he didn’t feel particularly willing to do that.

He had asked himself, from time to time, to test his conscience, whether he could ever kill someone or not.

He never quite managed to give a satisfying answer.

So, no, he wasn’t darkin and that was what he said to the incredibly surprised man in front of him, with all the persuasion he was able of.

He couldn’t be.

The physician closed his eyes and passed a hand over his forehead, with a sigh: “This overly complicates things” then, he went back to staring at him “You and I need to have good talk”

That talk revealed itself to be more pleasant and profitable than he could have hoped for.

Oonan, because that was the man’s name, explained him he had spent his whole life practicing a profession he didn’t love, filling his free time with his great vocation: the study of strange creatures. The things, like sand krakens, whose existence was known and the same time ignored by the population, out of a strange mix of fear and disgust.

And among them, obviously, darkin occupied a special place.

Little was known about them, their abilities, their origin, their appearance, except for what was told in the legends and in folk tales, which left a lot to be desired when it came to accuracy and realism, but after twenty years of research he could say he knew all that was humanely possible to find on them.

He had always wanted to meet one of them -_one of you_, he had then corrected himself, winking at him-, but he knew well it could be dangerous: for this exact reason he was so happy he had met Julius. He didn’t add anything else, but the meaning behind this statement was clear: surely he couldn’t possibly be a threat, as young as he was.

Hadn’t he been so upset by everything he had just been told, Julius would have probably felt offended.

_But how do you know I’m one of them with so much conviction?_ he had then asked him, always skeptic, but also curious.

It was then that Aa’s symbol came into play again in the conversation.

Oonan said that the Everseeing hated darkin, because they had been kissed by his renegade wife, Niah, at their birth -picture that Julius found to be more poetic than explicative- and therefore he had found a way to channel his rage through his symbols and punish them.

When Hëloise had called because one of her servants had lost consciousness, and had described him what had happened, and had showed him the place in question, he had immediately understood what it could mean. And he had never felt so excited.

_That doesn’t make sense._ Julius had then objected. _I lived in ‘Grave for twelve years and here for a whole month. I’ve payed visits to houses devoted to Aa multiples times. I would have for sure noticed something so obvious._

And then Oonan had smiled and added -in a teasing tone he didn’t like at all, because it felt like he was making fun of _him_\- that to be truly effective, a symbol had to be blessed by a devotee of sincereand fervent faith, not only jus for show.

_And the fact that you came across one of them only now should tell you a lot about the so-called religious spirit of our fellow countrymen, don’t you agree, young boy?_

But Julius still wasn’t persuaded.

Allright, Aa hated him.

He could come to terms with the resentment of a deity he had never caused any ill to.

If His ways were anything similar to how ‘Grave’s consuls behaved on a daily basis, it seemed to him that wasn’t something to be surprised by.

But it didn’t mean that the reason behind that rage was the one Oonan had indicated.

It was his mind which didn’t want to accept it -which kept offering him alternative explanations-, because deep down, instead, something was telling him that the man next to him was right. That there had been moments, occasions, he had never considered with the due attention up until then, but that suggested he might be something different from what he had always believe he was.

The comforting whisper he often heard in the dark, as opposed to the exhausting heat of the suns, which seemed to bother only him in the family.

Shadows which trembled in his room, despite the candle flame being completely still, in the days prior his departure from ‘Grave, when his agitation was too much to be really contained.

And that time, that only time, an year before, when he had make a boy around his age fall -with a mere thought, he had believed then. Clenching his fists, he realized in that moment- because he had made fun of his battered old clothes, disrespecting him and his _familia._

But that wasn’t enough. He needed a proof.

He fixed his gaze upon the shadows under the chair a few feet from him and he tried to make them sway, slowly moving his fingers.

Nothing.

Oonan had followed his eyes and attentively watched his actions, but had stayed silent, waiting with anticipation and impatience.

_What would he do, if he didn’t receive the show he was waiting for?_

Because at that point it was clear his kindness towards him had been motivated by mere self-interest. He wasn’t surprised: it was rare that people didn’t ask anything in return, after doing you a favor.

Maybe, his son had been keeping an eye on him since that day on the ship.

That would explain his strange generosity in gifting him those bracelets.

He again felt that sparkle of fear which had always accompanied him, without ever leaving his side, but this time it was soon suffocated by irritation.

He thought about the human contacts he had had throughout that last month. And about how others had treated him.

His father, as a bargaining chip.

His aunt, as a rag to clear glasses.

The other servants, as the last of the last.

And now that man he had never seen before, as some sort of freak ready to be dissected and analyzed.

He felt like a rag doll thrown from one side to another.

Devoid of a soul.

Subjected to everyone else’s will.

He started having enough.

And it was right on the wave of that rage that his fingers moved, almost without him noticing, and found an invisible handhold in a dark place, he hadn’t even known it existed until a few moments before.

They clang to it.

Pulled.

And the shadows moved.

Almost imperceptibly, that’s true.

But they moved.

Oonan’s eyes glittered with satisfaction when he noticed what he had done. Then, he looked at him with his brightest smile and put his right arm around him.

Julius had to appeal to all his self-control not to shake him off.

“Oh, my dear boy: I think this is the start of an amazing partnership”

And he, once more, believed him, despite not feeling at all reassured by it.

1It wasn’t the first time he had seen it. It wouldn’t be the last.

2But, as we know, life never goes quite well as one would want.

3Somewhere, miles and miles from there, in a silent mountain, black as truedark, an old man with a cigarillo between the fingers of his left hand was busy putting back some books on the shelves of a library. Who knows, maybe he would have disagreed with that statement…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long but I'm once again studying for uni! Having said this, I obviously have more time since my country has shut down basically everything because of covid-19 so... you know... trying to find something positive here. I hope you enjoy this chapter and that you'll be willing to wait for the next one! Thank you even just for reading.


	7. Apertis verbis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you even just for reading :) I hope this (very long) chapter will give you some answers and leave you waiting for another one. Comments (and critiques) are always welcome! (The story is now also being published in Italian on efpfanfic.net, if any of you want to read the original text) Happy holidays!

“**N**o well. More scrubbing. Again”

Julius let out an exasperated sigh and focused back on the vase he had been entrusted with. He had been going on polishing for almost an hour, but it seemed none of the pieces of silverware in front of him had been used -or touched- since Aa knew when. And if Bert, who at the moment was washing the room floor and supervising his work at the same time, hadn’t told him as clearly as he could that those were valuable objects, he for sure wouldn’t have bothered to look at them.

And to think that, when he had been informed that his aunt had assigned that as his duty for the turn, he had thought he could handle it and be finished in no time.

He closed his eyes, leaving his hands to keep working on their own, and rested his back against the wall.

In the three weeks following his encounter with Oonan, his four hours of sleep had soon become a little less than three. The physician, in fact, demanded constant updates on his abilities developments, but, not having ever met another darkin himself, he had close to zero idea of what Julius could really do and, therefore, he was of no help in guiding him in the right direction. And Julius, even more disoriented, had been forced to experiment in his spare time, when he knew -hoped- no one could see him.

At the beginning, Oonan had been content with observing him moving the shadows -activity that, after a good deal of exercise, he could now say he mastered with decent control-. He stretched, shorted, twisted them as he pleased: it was relaxing, other than useful.

But, since the beginning of the week, the doctor had started showing signs of dissatisfaction. He still hadn’t told him anything, but he paid less and less attention to the performances he had under his eyes at the end of each turn, before lying down, and he always seemed on the verge of making a comment. And even though he always desisted at the end, Julius knew exactly what he would say, once lost his temper.

_Is that all you’ve got?_

And he couldn’t let it happen.

Because as soon as Oonan got tired of him, his staying in that house would come to an end.

The agreement between them was very simple -simple for the physician, much less simple for him-: Julius provided him with materials for his studies and the other, in return, was with the task of keeping his true nature from the landlady’s knowledge. To Hëloise, who, worried and suspicious, had hastened to ask the reason behind his fainting right in front of the Everseeing’s altar, Oonan had explained that often miscreants had similar reactions at the presence of objects worshipped by _true_ devotees. A condition that could be cured, if they were slowly introduced to faith. The story had its weak points, but Hëloise’s mind lacked insight -the only thing, had thought Julius, she shared with his father- and, more than superstition, it was flattery that won her over.

And so, since it was still _unacceptable_ to have someone like Julius in her house, she had added to his duties also an hour long prayer session, chaired by her personal priest1 with the specific task to control her nephew’s behavior, which took place without exception at the beginning of each turn.

The first times were very similar to torture, because Julius knew none of the prayers he clergyman wanted him to recite -and he knew that only a profound veneration towards Hëloise prevented that man from beating him with his long walking stick-, but memory exercises had never been a problem for him2 and in close to no time he had become able to utter those endless litanies in a totally mechanical way. Tongue busy, mind free to think about what was truly important.

Even though his position had stayed the same-and his _familia_’s had probably only worsened- the discovery of his powers, as overwhelming and -at least at first- frightening as it was, had at last given him something he could work on. He still didn’t know exactly how he wold use them to get himself out of that situation, and he had to pay attention not to take missteps. If he took the right chance, though…

He was suddenly brought back to reality by a light touch on his left shoulder.

He lifted his gaze and saw Bert, lowered back and furrowed brow, who was gazing at him with a puzzled look on his face.

“You fine?”

Julius nodded, then added: “Heat”

Bert shook his head, as if he already knew -indeed, Julius had to admit it, he had been there for just a couple of hours and his clothes were already soaked with sweat- and gave him a glass of water with his right hand. He took it, grateful because he could sense it was fresh and not hot, and emptied it all in one breath.

“Thank you,” he then said, in Liisian.

Bert smiled at him and ruffled his hair -much shorter, since he found a rusty pair of kitchen scissors, a couple of nevernights before-, before going back to work.

It had been almost two months since they first met.

Time had passed incredibly fast.

Julius was about to do the same -thinking he was very much behind schedule- when he heard hurried steps in the corridor -steps he had learned to recognize almost effortlessly- and a moment after Lucius’ freckled face peeped from behind the door, shifting his focus from one side of the room to the other: when his eyes met Julius’, the boy smiled.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you! C’mon, hurry: dad sent me to buy some stuff at the market and he gave me the permission to ask you for help”

The idea of neglecting his work even more didn’t thrill him at all -because he was sure he would have to make up for it later-, but it was also true he hadn’t gone out of that house in weeks. And then, even if someone rebuked him, he could count on Oonan’s protection, who, on the other hand, had Hëloise’s respect and trust. He wouldn’t get into trouble anyway. So, he hastily explained the situation to Bert, who had almost no time to reply, and joined his mate in the hallway.

“I just need to ask dad for the shopping list and then we can go”

Because of his timetable and duties, Julius had found himself spending many turns in his company and he could say, with a reticence born out of suspiciousness, that it had been less unpleasant than the majority of the people he had met in Elai.

When in ‘Grave he had never had the possibility to make acquaintances in the group of boys around his age, except for the rare celebrations they had been invited to, and his experience told him they were nothing more than an inconvenient extension of their parents, exactly as he had been for Atticus.

Lucius, instead, him too not used to having someone to talk to, had liked him since their first encounter on that ship -he had told him, a couple of turns after their second meeting- and he had found numerous occasions to keep him company: his fondness for chatting seemed unquenchable, at least as much as his good spirits. Julius often asked himself how it was possible for a twelve-year-old to be still so optimistic.

His father’s study door was wide open and even before seeing him they heard his voice, and another man’s, talking in a Liisian so heavy and and tight that even Lucius, which was a fluent speaker, admitted he wasn’t able to understand more than a few words.

They leaned out on the doorstep, waiting for the right moment to ask what they had come for, and Julius saw Oonan, slightly bent over the sink, turning his back to a tall and brawny man, who gazed at him with impatience while he finished washing his hands. The figure was intimidating, and, once the two found themselves face to face once more, it became clear he surpassed Lucius’ father in height of at least a span. He had olive complexion and that, added to his black hair and eyes and the accent he was speaking with, made his liisian heritage obvious. He had also some tattoos on his forearms, marking his skin with red and blue ink, but the shirt he was wearing half-covered them, preventing the two boys from guessing what subjects they depicted.

Lucius slowly stepped forward, a bit intimidated by that stranger, to ask his father for the shopping list, while Julius stayed in the door shadow and did everything he could not to be noticed, fearing Oonan could choose that moment for making another request. The son didn’t know of his true nature, or of the agreement they shared, that was true -he was prone, on the contrary, to an endless admiration for him, who he saw as something similar to an hero-, but it was also true he didn’t feel safe enough to risk.

And it was specifically because of this reason, because of this desperate attempt not to draw the others’ attention to himself, that his was instead captured by a person standing in the back of the room, who had been at first concealed behind the man’s towering presence. It was a short and slim figure, slimmer than Julius was at the time, and she was barefoot on the hot marble.

Even facing the window, arms crossed on the balcony sill and gaze focused on the outside, it was still pretty much clear she was a girl. Her hair, black as the one of the man she was with, was long and thick, reached her hips and was, despite the poor quality of her clothes, tightly combed in a tidy braid, which seemed to confer some dignity to her overall look.

Julius felt intrigued, even if just absentmindedly so.

In the meantime, Oonan was giving some quick explanations.

“This is my son, Lucius. Lucius, this is dominus Næsmann, one of my… most loyal customers” Julius noticed the small pause between “my” and the last part of the sentence and wondered if Lucius had done the same. Unlikely.

“It’s… it’s a pleasure, sir.” Næsmann didn’t reply to that greeting but with a small nod.

After a brief, embarrassing moment, the boy focused again on his father: “I’m sorry for bothering you since I know you’re very busy right now, but I noticed you didn’t give me the list of the things we were meant to buy going out…”

Julius believed he saw a flesh of irritation in the father’s eyes, but he, by contrast, smiled as amiably as he could and jokingly hit his forehead with his hand, as if to laugh of his forgetfulness. Then he took out of his trousers’ pockets a small piece of paper: “You and the landlady’s nephew have still to go, then?” He glanced at the door, in the exact point Juliushad stayed in the faint hope to be invisible, and winked at him: after that, the boy was almost sure he had pretended to forget the list just to give him a silent warning.

_You better give me something useful this upcoming nevernight._

His thought went to Aa’s symbol, still fixed on the library wall, and his stomach twisted, sick with nausea.

“Be careful, out there, and come back as soon as you can!”

“Don’t worry, pa: the market is near and much crowded. It’ll take no time!”

Upon hearing those words, the girl, who had seemed not at all interested in the conversation, quickly turned around: “Going to the market? I’ll come with you. I’m bored here.”

She had her gaze focused on Lucius and his father, both of them taken aback by her statement, and almost didn’t take notice of Julius, half-hidden in the back. He, instead, could take a good look at her and widened his eyes, surprised, when he recognized in her the thief who had robbed that rich officer, the turn he had arrived at Elai.

_And to think he had though she lived on the street…_

The man who had to be her father gave her a grim glance and the two of them had a brief discussion in Liisian, before he shook his head in disapproval and asked Oonan, despite himself, the permission to send her with the two boys: “Alinne swore she won’t cause any trouble” And then, lowering his voice even more, another sentence in the same incomprehensible dialect they had up until then talked in.

The physician seemed to be persuaded by his argumentations, whatever they were, because he nodded and turned one last time to his son: “Don’t be late, and be careful,” while the other man was speaking in a similar way to the girl: then, the three of them walked through the hallway.

Julius could almost sense Luciusshake with excitement because of the fact he had not one, but two people around his age with him and even before they were out in the streets he had already started talking to her, telling her both his and Julius’ names. Then, he tried to shake her hand, but Alinne just started at him, without giving any sign of wanting to reciprocate the gesture.

She gave no more than one look at Julius, instead, who assumed, because of her disinterest, he hadn’t been recognized: it pleased him. The less people remembered him as linked to his staying in that mansion, the better.

“The only reason I decided to come with you is that I had no intention of staying there inside one moment more, especially since today it’s such a beautiful day,” she instead replied, squinting to make her eyes adjust to the sunslight which filled the dusty streets of Elai “when my brother start talking about business with anyone he becomes insufferable”.

_His brother, then. Not his father._

“What’s his job?”

“He ships goods, from here to ‘Grave and the other way around.”

At the mention of the sea, Lucius’ eyes glittered: “Oh, amazing, so he must travel a lot! What’s his ship? Is it moored at the dock, now?”

Alinne pretended not to have heard the question: “That was your father, right? Jonnen -my brother- had told me about him. He comes here often to bargain with him, but he had never taken me with him,” She smiled, as if she found the thing very funny “I don’t think he trusts me home alone anymore”

Julius had the impression she wanted one of them to ask the reason behind her last statement, but Lucius had been caught off guard and hesitated, while he, instead, had no intention of please her, especially because -given that her little pickpocketing operation almost surely hadn’t been a one-off- he believed he already knew the answer.

He was more interested in knowing why a self-proclaimed merchant was so preoccupied preventing his conversations with a doctor from being heard by anyone else, but he suspected he wouldn’t get an answer, if he asked.

It was the middle of the afternoon, and streets were crowded: with some attention and good will, walking through Elai’s streets for a couple of minutes you could reconstruct in a roughly accurate way the social pyramid characterizing Itreyan society. From the beggars who asked for money or food to the tradesmen who ignored them, from the dominae who argued for some pieces of cloth to the officers who gave them glances -and occasionally whistles- of appreciation, it was surprising to think how a district of the Republic obeyed to the same rules as ‘Grave, its capital. Surprising, but not uplifting. The market was to be found near the docks -as Julius had noticed the turn he had arrived- in the biggest square in the city, which was also -either because of the architect’s incompetence or because of his particular sense of humor- only reachable through very narrow street.

They soon found themselves at the end of the queue, barely managing to breath through the sultriness and the sweat of the bodies pressed against each other to reach the stands, pressed between a seller of glassware and a man with a quirky turban on his head. Julius thought that, with no one paying attention to him -Lucius still trying to start a conversation with Alinne talking about he didn’t even know what and every other person there too focused on minding their own business-, that could be the perfect moment to test his powers outside the mansion. He had noticed that light and heat seemed to adversely affect his abilities -and that was somehow obvious- and, if he wanted to properly develop them, he had to seize every opportunity he was given.

He stood there, perfectly still, moving nothing but the fingers of his hands, experimenting once again that feeling, more and more familiar to him as time passed, of control on a new and unknown matter. A matter which was starting to answer to his calling and which called him as well.

At first, he had been terrorized.

Now, he could hardly get enough.

He tickled the shadows under his fingertips, focusing on their essence -more slippery than inside the house- and trying to strengthen his hold: up until that moment he had only tried with inanimate objects, using shapes and contours to verify how much exactly he could keep control. Too difficult and too dangerous it was to try something similar with his aunt’s servants, who could notice and wonder. But there, in the middle of the crowd, without no one paying him any attention…

He pointed his gaze at the shadow of a stocky man right next to him and tried its consistence with an invisible touch. He made it slightly twist, as he had always done, before an inspiration caught him: what would happen, if he tried to keep the shadow still, when the man tried to move? Something similar to the turn in which he had made that kid fall, a year prior? He observed him, waiting: sooner or later, he would move, and when he felt it was going to happen soon…

“And what about you, instead? You haven’t spoken a word all this time. Are you mute, or simply shy?”

His fingers slipped and he lost his grip. A moment later, his target elbowed two other people and disappeared between two stands.

Marvelous.

“Maybe I simply have nothing to say,” he answered then, vaguely annoyed. _And surely I haven’t anything to say _to you. Any sympathy he had felt for her the turn he had seen her rob that man was disappearing at the same speed a sand kraken devoured its prey3.

“Julius doesn’t talk much,” added Lucius, eager to carry on the conversation “When we saw each other for the first time, a couple of months ago, he barely spoke to me”.

Julius had thanked him, a couple of turns after getting acquainted with his father, for the bracelets he had gifted him and had seen his face lighten up. He had had the impulse to ask him how he managed to be so happy with so little. He hadn’t, though.

“So, you’ve known each other for only two months, right?”

“Oh, yes! We met on a ship sailing from ‘Grave: I had my father waiting for me at the dock here and he was going to work for your landlady, but we didn’t know we would live in the same house. It was a nice surprise when we saw each other again”

Julius was about to say he would hesitate to define as “nice” the second occasion in which he had met Lucius, but decided to stay silent.

“Aye, it seemed to me that your accent wasn’t of someone born around here. Sure, the change from ‘Grave to Elai isn’t at all subtle… What do your parents do? Are they merchants too?”

He would rather tell her a lie -talking about his familia was the last thing he wanted, because he felt already guilty enough for his inability to do anything for his father and anxious for what could happen if the situation didn’t soon improve-, but Lucius knew the truth and, seen his absolute lack of malice, he would immediately question him in that regard.

He had no intention of making a fool of himself more than he already knew he was.

“My mother’s dead,” said then, in a toneless voice “My father… my father is a senator”

“A senator?” Alinne raised an eyebrow “I don’t believe it”

“Believe what you want. It’s still the truth” Julius was aware he hadn’t looked the part of a marrowborn since at least a month and he also knew how to choose his battles. That wasn’t one worth fighting. As if he were interested in the opinion of a little Liisian thief.

Little Liisian thief who was suddenly much more interested in him.

“Well, what I mean is that it’s strange, isn’t it? Your clothes are in poor conditions, your hair seemed to be cut -no offense, uh- with rusted kitchen scissors4, you don’t seem to be eating ver well, or very much -believe me, I know what I’m talking about- and, ‘byss and blood, you’re an houseboy! Either you’re lying , or your father is particularly incompetent in doing his job”

Listening to those words, someone in Julius cracked.

He had been the first to criticize Atticus, and he would keep doing so.

But no one could insult him or his _familia_.

_No one_.

“Take it back”

He had said it in a way so strange that both Alinne and Lucius looked at him, surprised: “What?”

“Take what you said about my father back. Now”

An ordinary person would notice they had touched a nerve and behaving accordingly, apologizing.

Alinne, as I believe you, gentlefriends, know already, was not an ordinary person.

And her stubbornness was only equal to her pride.

Therefore, eyes lighting, raised her chin and replied with confidence: “Why should I apologize if it’s true? Because it is true, isn’t it? Your father sucks so much he sent you here to scrape some money together. Go on, prove me I’m wrong”

For a moment, all the rage Julius had repressed in those turns got the best of him and he was on the point of knocking her on the floor.

But, after what she had said, he wanted to hurt her. And he had always been taught that words could cut even deeper than a gravebone blade, in situations like those.

So he placed himself in front of her, pushing aside a more and more confused Lucius, and whispered, so that only she could hear him, with an hiss cry much similar to a snake’s: “_At least I didn’t stoop so low as to beg on the street pretending to be a sweetgirl_”

He felt a cold pleasure in watching her expression tremble. Her eyes widened, now, as black as truedark, and her neck was stiff, muscles tense as if someone had slapped her. When a spark of understanding fleshed in her gaze, he was sure he had been recognized in the same way he had recognized her the moment he had seen her again. He felt satisfied.

What satisfied him way less was the punch which hit him in the face right afterwards.

He felt a piercing pain on his right cheek -_so she is left-handed_\- which spread in a matter of seconds all over his head: his vision blurred and he felt something hot and sticky dripping from his nose and wetting his lips with a metallic taste. He staggered backwards, trying to regain balance and relieve the pain, deaf to the worried questions coming from Lucius, who had not idea of what had happened but still wanted to help.

And that was how, without even noticing, he crashed into a man standing next to him more violently than wanted.

“Hey, kid, watch out and back off!” Julius lifted his eyes and he could glimpse, through the tears that still clouded his gaze, the individual he had bothered and who was looking at him without much favor.

He started apologizing, fighting with breath still chocked in surprise, but the other had already lost interested in him and was focusing on a point right behind his shoulders.

“But… but I know you! You’re the little bitch who ripped off my money that turn near the docks!”

Because, yes.

There, in that crowd of hundreds -maybe thousands- of people, they had found themselves side by side with the same officer Alinne had robbed two months earlier.

When I said that destiny adores to take the piss out of us, gentlefriends, you must believe me: I wasn’t joking.

Before having time to react, Julius was pushed aside by the man and fell on the ground, on the dusty and dirty street. From that position, he could see Alinne try to make her way through the crowd with the same suppleness he had observed -and admired- in the prior occasion.

But she had lost precious seconds in surprise.

And, this time, the other was quicker.

With a quick hand motion, he caught her by the long braid and strongly yanked it, making her scream and pulling her towards him.

Around them, the crowd was starting to realize something was happening.

“What did you do with my money, eh? What did you do?”

Alinne was wriggling from the man’s grip as if she were possessed by a Hearthless, kicking and cursing, but the officer didn’t seem at all bothered.

“What should I do with you? Give you to the Luminatii? I’m sure they’d know how to deal with someone like you” An arm was around her throat, while the other had caressed her head. “But… but why should I be the only one losing out, in all of this? Why shouldn’t I be allowed to have a little fun?”

No one seemed to pay attention to Julius, whose first instinct was to take Lucius by the writs and drag the both of them out of there as fast as he could.

And still, still.

And still her brother was still in his aunt’s house, and he wouldn’t be at all happy to know they had lost her in the street. And he could ask inconvenient questions. And Hëloise could not appreciate it.

And still, if Alinne got arrested, she would probably make their names as a revenge for being left behind -he knew, because he would do the same without hesitation-. Sure, they hadn’t done anything wrong, but justice didn’t work that way.

And still, however little sympathy he felt for that girl, he felt even less for the man who was holding her. He reminded him too much of some disgusting people he had seen every turn in ‘Grave.

He was still sitting on the paving and, feeling the ground with his hands, found what turned out to be a pretty big stone, maybe fallen from a cart. At first he thought at aiming at the officer’s head, but then realized that, because of the crowd, it was unfeasible.

But after that he saw the seller of glassware right next to them and an idea popped up in his mind.

“Alinne” he shouted to catch her attention and then, hoping she had understood and closed her eyes in time, threw the stone.

A crash was heard, and, right after that, a scream: as Julius had hoped, the man, too near to the cart and too slow to realize what had been happening, suffered numerous cut injuries all over his face because of the glass splinters and was shouting in pain.

Alinne didn’t waste time: wriggling out so that she had an arm free, she bit as hard as she could the hand that was holding her still and, with that and a rather resolved stepping on toes, she managed to free herself.

Before anyone had time to realize anything, and before the man got rid of all the glass pieces, she had already disappeared in the crowd, with Julius and a disoriented Lucius following her as fast as they could.

The only problem was that she knew where she was going and they didn’t.

They lost sight of her almost immediately and, as if that weren’t enough, they heard at the same time the heavy steps of the man who was making his way between confused clients and merchants, uttering something that could be both a growl and a laughter5.

“He’s coming, he’s coming! Oh Daughters, my father will kill me once we get home!” Lucius seemed on the verge of tears and hadn’t evidently understood the real gravity of the situation: they had just helped a thief escape from someone much more powerful than them. Oonan was the least of their problems.

Julius looked behind them and noticed with desperation that the man was nearer and nearer, while they struggled to move -both because Lucius acted as dead weight and because no one seemed particularly eager to stepping aside to let two brats through-. Plus, all that bustle had checked the too much attention: more than one person had started gazing at them, suspicious and curious.

_From bad to worse._

_If he just managed to distract attention from them and slow him down…_

And then, he saw it.

The dark silhouette of their chaser, on the ground, tangled up with the ones of the multitude around, but still clearly distinguishable.

He didn’t know if it would work, but he had to try.

He could sense the other shadows shake around him, reflecting his anxiety and excitement, so much that it seemed to him that the entire market was there, at hand, under his fingers, and that was something was about to answer his call6, but he casted out those feelings, shaking his head.

Instead, he appealed to all his concentration, fixed his gaze on his target, already very close… and clenched his fists, nailing his shadow to the ground.

He heard an imprecation.

Then a thud.

And something that seemed the sound of broken bones.

Julius didn’t lose time making sure of what had just happened: everyone’s gaze was directed elsewhere, now, and it had to be enough. A thrill of pleasure passed through his body, despite himself, thinking about what had just happened.

_He had done it._

_He had learnt something new._

His hand clenched around Lucius’ wrist, who had stopped complaining and meekly followed him, started moving again through the crowd.

When the man stopped shouting in pain and articulated whole sentences again -_it was them, it was them!_\- all three had already disappeared.

**T**hey found Alinne again in an alley close from there, busy checking her face in a dirty water hole to make sure she hadn’t glass splinters under her skin.

She didn’t seem particularly fazed by the incident.

“I have been through worse,” she commented, with a shrug, when Lucius keeled over next to her, eyes shut and head in his hands “One time I tried to enter in the house of a guy who seemed full of priests, but I forgot to check he hadn’t any pets. His dog bit me three times. Thigh, left arm and clavicle. When I went home I resembled a sieve. My brother didn’t even want to let me in.”

She smiled and Julius almost smiled back.

Almost.

“You still owe me an apology,” he replied, instead “And some thanks, if you please. And even if you don’t”

“And why, pray tell, should I?”

“Because of what you said about my father and because if it weren't for me you’d still be in the hands of that guy, it’s obvious”

“And because you left us there!” added Lucius, shaking “Because you left us there and we could be taken in your place and it’s not fair!”

Alinne gave him a look that could mean all and nothing, but didn’t reply.

“I have no intention fo apologizing for whatever I said about your _familia_, since it was true. And then, I don’t remember you scrambling to compliment me”

“I didn’t lie either”

“And that’s why I didn’t make you apologize”

“You punched me!”

“You deserved it. You were a tosser. Oh, by the way, you still have your upper lip all covered in blood.”

Julius touched it and realized it was true: the pain had been anesthetized right away by adrenaline, and now that the danger had passed he knew the backlash would be all but pleasant. It seemed he had no broken bones, at least.

“All right. No apologizes. I accept with good grade the thanks, though.”

“Thanks? What thanks? Hadn’t you crashed into him that man wouldn’t have noticed a thing: it was your fault I ended up in that situation, if you ask me.”

Julius shook his head, in disbelief: that girl was incredible.

“And also I’m perfectly able to take care of myself. I’d gotten out of that mess on my own”

“And how? Crying and shouting? I saw you, you were as pale as a corpse. Admit it: you were afraid.”

Alinne’s expression suddenly hardened, as if Julius’ words had stabbed her in the stomach: “I’m _never_ afraid”

“Aren’t you? How strange, and still you seemed terrorized…”

“Fear is for the weak. For them, and for people who have too much to lose,” she pursed her lips “I’m not weak. And I cannot think of something I have that could be taken away from me. You, on the other hand, must know all too well what fear is, since you behave so much like a marrowborn smartass” she shrugged “Sure, a marrowborn smartass with very little money and a father unable to provide for him, but a marrowborn smartass nonetheless”

She was looking for another fight, that was clear, but Julius had enough of that.

He was tired, dirty and he still had a pile of silverware waiting for him, at home.

“Lucius, I believe it’s time we go back”

The boy slightly lifted his head, but didn’t move: “But… but we didn’t buy anything… dad will be angry…”

“We’ll tell him there were too many people and when we made it to the stands the things we needed weren’t available anymore,” he took his hand and helped him back on his feet “It will give us another chance to go back to the market, tomorrow,” then he looked back at Alinne, speaking in a voice he hoped sounded absolutely toneless “We’re going, you do as you wish, I don’t care”

But she would not let it go: “Did the cat eat your tongue, Julius? Or simply you realized I was right and you were wrong?”

“That’s enough, Alinne,” he replied, through his teeth “I’m not going to repeat it another time””

“Or else? What will you do? Tell your father? What do you think he could do to me, even if he cared?”

_Nothing_.

That was the truth.

Atticus couldn’t do anything, locked in the Philosopher’s Stone as he was.

And, even if he could, Julius was pretty sure he would not be interested in what had happened.

At most, he would tell him he’d been a fool for allowing a girl to make fun of him.

Alinne didn't know, and still seemed able to alway hit in the right place. Why she took so much pleasure in it, he did not know. He didn’t even want to.

He felt angry again. Angry and tired altogether.

“I said _enough_”

He didn’t notice he had his fists closed, clenched so tight his nails were biting his palm, until he looked the ground.

The shadows danced, again, with particular violence, so much that he seemed little flames of black fire. The ally, on which still shone two eyes of the Everseeing, suddenly seemed much darker.

Once more, it seemed something was calling him, but he couldn’t understand what.

Alinne was suddenly still, her gaze shifting from his face to the floor under their feet.

She had seen.

That was a problem.

“‘Byss and blood…”

Maybe the best option was to behave as nothing had happened, especially since Lucius, instead, seemed too exhausted to notice anything.

“Now what?” he asked, then, with fake nonchalance, keeping on walking “Guilty conscience?”

She didn’t answer. And didn’t speak a word throughout their journey back.

But Julius noticed, with worry and satisfaction mixed together, she carefully avoided walking too close to him.

**T**he following hours passed almost as planned.

He and Lucius said goodbye to Alinne on the door -or, better, Lucius said goodbye to Alinne, he only started at her until she was forced to look away- and then briefly explained what had happened to Oonan, who got angry way less than they had expected.

Julius was almost sure the task they had been given had just been a pretext to distract Lucius, so that he could do whatever he wanted with Alinne’s brother but he said nothing, not even to Lucius, who meekly thanked him for getting him out of trouble.

“I hope we’ll be able to go out more often together, without any more inconveniences,” he just said, with a just-hinted smile, before they both went to their occupations.

Julius, after all, hoped that too, but replied with a simple nod.

There was no time for the usual show in Oonan’s study, that turn: he was too behind schedule with the silverware and he had to stay up well after curfew. The man seemed far from pleased by the setback, but he had to accept it: as little as he liked remembering it, that boy wasn’t his property, but his landlady’s. He could exploit him only his spare time.

Julius, instead, was more than happy, because he was far from excited at the perspective of having to reveal him what he had discovered at the market

The more tricks up his sleeve he had, the better.

The moment he could finally go to bed, he had only two hours before the beginning of the next turn and he felt exhausted.

He jumped on the bed without even taking his clothes off and was already about to fall asleep -already anticipating that brief break of unconsciousness- when he saw out of the corner of his eye a movement that made him well awake again.

It was as if a dark spot -a shadow?- had moved from one side of the room to the other.

He looked around him with circumspection and resisted the urge to draw the curtains to better see the room. If he had truly seen a shadow, darkness was its natural environment.

He saw nothing else for a good while and was starting to think he had dreamt it -_I really have to find a way to sleep more these next turns_\- when, again, the spot reappeared, this time stopping right in the center of the room.

It was a shadow, no doubt about that, and it moved in a rapid, jerky way, unlike anything Julius had ever seen before. He tried to control it, to twist it, but it seemed it differed from its fellows, because it stayed still while the whole room throbbed and pulsed.

And still, and Julius had no doubt about that, despite not having idea of how he knew that, _the thing was having fun_.

“Come here,” he then said, knocking on the wooden plate “I won’t hurt you”

How do you even hurt something devoid of consistence?

The thing still seemed reticent, so Julius made the other shadows dance once more.

It could not be controlled by him, but his powers still had some effects on it, because the dark stain came towards him, with a slow, meandering movement which reminded him of the picture of that viper he had seen so many times on his picture book. The analogy seemed almost too perfect.

But the shadow didn’t immediately climbed on the wooden board.

Instead, it holed up under the bed, so that Julius, even leaning over its edge, could not identify it.

But he knew it was there.

He could feel it.

He decided to wait.

And then, after what could be a couple of minutes or an hour- the thing left its shelter and faced him.

It was no longer a dark stain, though. What Julius had in front of him, instead, was a snake, identical to the picture in the bestiary except for the fact it was completely dark, and had no eyes. Or, better, visible eyes.

Because, despite the appearance, Julius was sure that being -no, not thing- could see him.

Feel him.

Understand him

It stayed still for a bunch of seconds, then rotate on itself once, twice, as if it wanted to be more comfortable, and then gazed back at him with its not-eyes.

Maybe he should have been scared, but Julius just felt happy.

Happy as he hadn’t felt in months.

“Hi,” said then, a thin smile on his lips.

_Hi_, came the reply, hissed and barely audible.

He had to suppress a cry.

So _he_ could also speak…

“Who are you?”

No answer.

“I’m Julius”

_Julius_…

“Yes!” he nodded “Do you have a name?”

The shadow tilted its reptilian head, and pondered for a couple of seconds, then shook his head to say “no”.

“Everyone should have a name,” Julius gave a good look at the strange subject he had in front of him, and that was gazing back at him with the same attention and anticipation. He was a snake. A snake quick and with a thin, rustling voice. His smile widened.

_“What about Whisper?”_

1The tradition of paying personal priests or clerics so that they looked after a _familia_’s spiritual health was established during the monarchy by the members of Francesco XI’s court, and then spread through the aristocracy with time and the establishment of the Itreyan Republic.

According to the chronicles, the reason behind this overabundance of clergymen was the moral reform enacted by the kind from the moment he had assumed the throne: so shining was his example and so spending his ideas, that many had converted to that healthy and pious lifestyle.

According to… less official sources, the reason was more prosaic: in the last period of his life, Francesco XI had started suffering from a persecution complex -maybe even justified, since he was at last assassinated by his own son-. He saw conspiracies everywhere, and executed the so-called plotters with equal ease.

So, you see, having your personal priest who could turnly confess you was very practical: after all, you could never predict what turn would be your last.

2Someone had said his memory was as sharp as swords. It’s incredible how certain things are handed down form father to son, isn’t it?

3Very, very quickly. Sure, their metabolism was a whole other story, but we are not here for a zoology lesson.

4Observant, the girl.

5In my defense, men like them aren’t stingy only on money: they also make use of the exact same snort on multiple occasions.

6Something heard him. Something answered.


End file.
